


Remnants

by kristen999



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Case Fic, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristen999/pseuds/kristen999
Summary: Steve would crawl through every level of hell to keep Danny safe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No real spoilers, maybe a tiny one for 5.07. Set late Season 5.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: After several months of writer’s block, I asked Imaginary_Iby for a prompt. This is all her fault. Thanks babe for the cheer-leading and to Gaelicspirit for the wonderful beta! You rock!

***

 _Rumfire_ was typically low-key during the week, but tonight they hosted a live fusion jazz ensemble, featuring what had to be the loudest trumpet player on the island. Steve cringed when the musician hit a high-pitched note, increasing the dull throb of a growing headache. 

A small crowd of locals gathered around the stage and a few people mingled at the bar. A faint hint of weed mixed with the odor of alcohol and lingering cigarette smoke from outside.

Danny stopped halfway toward the bar and pinned Steve with a frown. “What’s the matter? You’ve got one of your looks.”

“Nothing,” Steve grunted.

Danny waved his hand at the band on stage. “Don’t you like jazz?”

“I like a jazz, but you know, like the soothing kind. Bossa Nova, blues.” Steve shrugged. “I’d rather be home on the sofa.”

“You’d rather be home?” Danny held out his palms in question, a key tale of his annoyance.“Then why did you ask me if I wanted to go out?”

“Because I wanted to…you know….”

“To what?”

Steve rubbed at the pressure point at his temple with his wrist. He’d tried to do the thing where he put his desire aside for Danny andstill failed spectacularly in the execution. “I just felt after coming off a three-day stakeout, you would’ve preferred a quiet night at home.”

Danny arched his eyebrows and did that head tilt thing warning that he was about to launch into one of his rants. “After being stuck inside a cramped seat for over seventy-two hours, you thought I would have preferred spending time in the living room instead of going out and stretching my legs? Maybe enjoy something other than the non-stop nattering of a suspect who was in the middle of a divorce and cheating on his mistress with his therapist.” He stepped closer, every word loud and grating over the music. “We were stuck in the middle of some ridiculous gangster soap opera; so after three days of hell, yes, I wanted to go out for a bit.”

Steve winced; the surveillance van had been a tight squeeze and Tanner, their suspect, an annoying twit. He held out his hands in surrender. “Settle down, it’s fine. You’ve made a good point, okay?”

“Of course I did,” Danny said with a nod.

Steve went toward the bar and ordered a drink while Danny squinted when he tried to read the draft menu. Steve scanned the board of over fifty selections than back at Danny who mumbled under his breath. “Do you need some reading glasses there?”

“What I need is for this chicken scratch not be written in yellow chalk.”

Steve chuckled. “Well, I’m gonna hit the head.” He looked for the bartender, but couldn’t find where he disappeared. “And could you grab my beer when the guy returns?”

“Am I paying for it, too?”

Patting down his pockets, Steve realized he didn’t have his wallet. He gave Danny one of his most charming grins. “Do you remember when I chased our suspect into that pool and had to change pants?”

“I remember an unnecessary flying leap and getting splashed in the collateral damage. But since you owe me for your half of the grocery bill this month, I’ll just tack it on,” Danny said, waving him away.

Steve smiled and Danny rolled his eyes as he made a show of pulling out his credit card on his way to the bar.

***

Steve made turkey sandwiches for dinner because that was all the energy he had left after a surveillance stint, taking a swim with their suspect, a downtown booking, and the beginning of a migraine from the bar. Improvised jazz sounded like a bunch of screaming cats.

Steve handed Danny a plate and Danny scowled at the food like it was offensive, before he sat on the left side of the sofa. “Are we stopping by HPD to grab your wallet tomorrow?”

Steve reached for a bottle of mustard out of the fridge and glared at it when he realized it was empty. “No, we’ll wait until Monday.” 

“You know we’ve got that thing at Lou’s house in the afternoon.”

It took a moment before Steve remembered what Danny was talking about. He closed his eyes, annoyed. “Oh man, it’s his daughter’s birthday.”

“Uh-huh.”

Steve walked into the living room and settled onto the sofa beside Danny, the plate balanced on his lap. “And we didn’t buy Samantha a present.”

Danny moved his plate on the coffee table, his sandwich half-eaten. “Nope.” 

Steve calculated how many hours they had tomorrow morning before they needed to at Lou’s. “Okay, we’ll swing by somewhere before going over for lunch.”

“Don’t worry I’ll cover it, like you how I covered our tabs.”

“Hey, you drank my beer.”

“Call it interest. Besides, you still had two more.”

“Semantics,” Steve muttered. 

Relaxing against the sofa cushions, Steve glanced over and noticed Danny’s chest hair sticking out from the unbuttoned opening of his shirt, stirring warm desire in his belly. Licking his lips, he leaned closer. “You know we don’t have to get up until ten and I’m kind of feeling a second wind coming on.”

The sofa dipped as Danny sprawled out, throwing his arms across the back of the couch. He groaned and not in an enthusiastic way. “My head’s killing me.”

Danny’s words had the effect of a cold wet blanket; Steve slouched in his seat.

“I’m going to take the high road on this and not mention who chose going out tonight.” Danny didn’t elbow him, so Steve knew he really wasn’t feeling well. He looked at Danny’s untouched dinner, another sign he was under the weather. Steve softened his tone. “You should eat.”

When Danny didn’t move toward the food, Steve began massaging the spot behind Danny’s ear at the base of his skull. 

Danny made a low noise in the back of his throat, encouraging Steve to continue kneading the knotted muscle. “Come on; finish the sandwich so you can take some Advil.”

“Stomach’s off, too.”

“Okay,” Steve whispered. “Then let’s go to bed.”

Grabbing his arm, Steve helped Danny up. Maybe an early night would cure a long week of frazzled nerves. Danny didn’t say a word as Steve led him up the stairs, careful that he didn’t trip. “Maybe if you’re good I’ll even make breakfast.”

Danny snorted. “Is hell freezing over?”

Steve didn’t dignify him with a response. 

***

A hacking noise woke-up Steve and he blinked several times to clear his vision, identifying the source of the retching coming from the bathroom. He looked over at the other side of the bed to find it empty with the sheets shoved aside. Wincing in sympathy, he switched on lamp from the nightstand and walked toward the halfway-way open door.

“Danny…you okay?”

He heard a pained groan from the bathroom, followed by more heaving. Steve hovered where Danny was bent over the toilet, panting. Steve grabbed a towel and wet it under the sink, waiting for a pause in between bouts of illness before kneeling down next to Danny.

Steve pressed the damp towel against Danny’s sweat-drenched neck and used it to wipe down the side of his face. Danny bowed his forehead against the rim of the toilet, his shoulders shaking. 

“How long have you’ve been feeling like this?” Steve asked, keeping his voice low. Danny grunted, but didn’t say anything. “I know it sucks, but I need to know. Do you think its food poisoning?”

“I dunno,” Danny mumbled. “Fuckin’ sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.” Steve used his thumb to dig into the knotted tension in Danny’s neck. But they had both eaten the same thing, so maybe it wasn’t the sandwiches. “Did you eat anything at the bar?”

“No.”

And Grace and Charlie were fine they were over a few days ago. Danny’s body stiffened before he got sick again. Steve rubbed a soothing hand between Danny’s shoulder blades, the only form of comfort he could offer.

***

Worry and fear twisted inside Steve’s chest. It had been over an hour and Danny hadn’t stopped vomiting. 

“We’re going to the ER; there’s no argument.” Steve threw on a shirt and shorts and dug through the top drawer of the dresser where Danny kept some of his clothes. 

“No.” Danny was a curled ball of misery propped against the side of the tub. “Just let me lie on the floor to die in peace.”

“If you don’t let me help, then I’m calling an ambulance.”

“I’m not riding in a bus.” 

“Then the ER it is.” Steve walked back over and bent down to grab Danny around the waist.

Danny batted Steve’s hands away. “Leave me alone.”

“Danny….”

“Can’t you allow me to be miserable alone?”

“Your skin’s clammy, you’re trembling, and you’ve been complaining of a headache.”

“I have a headache because you won’t go away.”

“Yeah? And on a scale of one to ten, how dizzy are you?”

Danny didn’t reply. Steve stood with his arms crossed. “If you can’t show me that you’re ambulatory, than I’m going to throw you over my shoulders and carry you to the car.”

“Fuck you.”

“Believe me, that’d be a lot more fun right now.” 

A sense of dread grew into a ball under Steve’s ribcage. Danny’s hair was a frazzled mess; his complexion grey under the bathroom lights, his movement’s weak. Clenching his jaw, Steve studied the most strategic way to grab him when Danny made a choked sound, his body jerking before he spat blood onto the linoleum floor.

Fear exploded into full panic, Steve’s heart spiked like jackhammer against his breastbone. But he channeled it into action as he grabbed his cell phone, his mind racing. It’d take an ambulance twelve minutes to arrive and another twelve to reach the hospital. 

Kneeling, he took Danny’s arm and slung it over his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. “Come on; lean all your weight on me.”

“Yeah,” Danny muttered, swaying. “I…I think you’re right.”

Steve never wanted to be so wrong in his life.

***

With his sirens and lights, it only took Steve eight minutes to drive to Tripler. He gunned it into the emergency lane designated for ambulances, having already radioed ahead; a medical team waited with a gurney.

“We’re here, buddy.” Steve rested a hand on Danny’s shoulder, but Danny’s features were pitched in distress, his breathing labored.

Steve nearly broke the driver-side door as he jumped out. “This is Detective Danny Williams from Five-O. He’s in his late thirties, pulse is thready, and he’s been throwing-up for over an hour, including vomiting blood.”

Three of the emergency staff pulled Danny out from the passenger-side. Steve couldn’t tear gaze from the red stains on the front of Danny’s white t-shirt as he was loaded onto the gurney; he hurried right behind through the emergency doors.

“BP is 150/95, pulse rate 100 with shortness of breath,” one of the nurses rattled off.

Steve followed Danny down the hall, but couldn’t enter the trauma area as automatic doors closed in front of him. As much as it killed him not to being able to go further, he knew better than to get in the way of a medical assessment. Danny deserved a hundred percent of the staff’s attention.

Resting his hands on his knees, Steve bent over, drawing long steady breaths into his lungs to defuse the terror still bubbling over, his adrenaline rush crashing. What the _hell_ just happened? 

“Commander McGarrett?”

Lifting his head, Steve looked over at the male nurse waiting on him. “Yeah.”

“Could you fill out some forms for Detective Williams?”

No, not really. But he took the paperwork.

“And do you have Detective William’s insurance card? We’ll need that information as well.” Steve gripped the clipboard and glared at the other man. The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile. “If you’d like to have a seat, there are some chairs down the hall and to your left.”

Steve didn’t want to fill out paperwork and he didn’t want to sit down. He took the offered pen and clipboard and walked toward the exit so he could move the Camaro from the emergency lane.

He needed to occupy his mind, even if it was only for a few minutes.

 

***

Steve stared at the walls, at the floor tiles, and debated if he should make certain phone calls. Then the whole team would show up, and the waiting room would fill with worried people instead of just him. 

But Steve didn’t know what _this was_. People didn’t throw-up blood from the stomach flu. Then again Danny never did anything halfway.

He shook his head; Steve’s gut said this was serious. He pulled out his cell phone again and thumbed down his contact list….

“Commander McGarrett?”

Steve glanced-up at a guy in blue scrubs, who at best was only in his late twenties and already balding. “Yes.”

“I’m Dr. Anderson.”

Steve jumped to his feet. “How’s Danny?”

“We’re trying to stabilize him, but….”

“Wait, wait. What do you mean, you’re _trying to?_ What’s wrong with him?”

“I was hoping you could answer a few questions so we can get a better understanding of his recent history….”

Steve shook his head. “His recent history? What does that have to do with anything?”

“If we have a detailed picture of what Mr. Williams has been doing the last few days, it might help us piece together what’s going on.”

“Which is what exactly?” Steve stepped closer, a habit from obtaining information from hostile suspects. “Listen, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll list every step Danny’s made in the last forty-eight hours, but you have to give me something. What are we dealing with?”

Dr. Anderson crossed his arms. “Detective Williams is showing signs of coagulopathy.”

“And what does that mean?”

“His body is having difficulty forming blood clots.”

There was a loud buzzing sound in Steve’s ears. “I still don’t follow.”

“It means that Detective Williams is bleeding into his soft tissues.”

***

Steve walked into the back of the emergency room area until he found exam room six. Steeling himself, he pulled the curtain back, and stared. Danny looked terrible. His face was sweaty and drawn, his eyes closed tight as he breathed heavy on his oxygen, an emesis basin held tightly between his hands.

“Stop starin’ at me. It’s bad enough I feel like crap. I don’t need an audience.”

“I promise I won’t stare.” Steve moved until he stood beside the bed. “They’re um, going to be moving you to regular room in the next hour.”

Danny opened bloodshot eyes and glared at him, deflated. “Great. I’ve earned myself an overnight stay.”

“They’ve got more tests to run, you know the drill. You’ll be feeling better in no time.”

“My blood isn’t clotting right which means every time I yack, I’m tearing-up my insides.”

“They said it’s probably from the lining of your esophagus.”

“I started pissing blood an hour ago.”

Steve swallowed against the lump in his throat; no one had told him that. Danny already looked like he was ready to accept a death sentence.

“The doc says they’re going to give you something to increase your clotting factors.” Danny stared at the ceiling, but Steve stayed the path. “We’re going to find out what’s going on. I promise.”

“Are you going to start an investigation, Dr. House?”

“If I have to.” Steve rested hand on Danny’s shoulder, curling his fingers into the solid muscle. “Do you remember being around anyone, anyone at all who’s been sick, someone at Grace’s school?”

“I’ve been with you on the same stakeout for the last three forsaking days.” Danny’s eye widened and he bolted forward, frantic. “What about you? Are you feeling –”

“I’m fine,” Steve said, pushing Danny back against the bed.

“Steve….”

“I’m not sick.”

“Maybe you should get a blood test or something to make sure.” 

Steve started to protest, but Danny grimaced, both hands squeezing the emesis basin. 

Heart racing, Steve didn’t know what to do. “Danny? What is it? Talk to me.”

“My…my muscles, they’re, damn it,” Danny choked, voice strained. “I’ve got spasms in my arms and legs. It feels like a bunch of Charlie horses.”

“Okay, I’ll go find someone, just hang on,” Steve said, grabbing Danny’s arm. “I’ll be right back.”

Steve flung the curtain open, almost ripping off its hinges as he yelled for help.

***

Steve returned to the waiting area, but he couldn’t sit, so he stood and stared at the nurses’ station until one of them asked him to stop.

He pulled out his cell phone to call the rest of the team, then hesitated, not knowing what the hell to tell them. Spreading panic without concrete facts wasn’t fair, but they deserved to be informed. Steve’s thumbed hovered over the touch screen when he spotted the nurse who had checked on Danny.

“Hey,” he said, eyes searching her nametag.

“My name is Amy, Commander; I’m the head nurse tonight.”

She wore fatigues like half the military staff and was twice the age as Danny’s doctor; it boosted his confidence talking to her. “Yes, Amy. Thank you, I was wondering if you had information on my partner, Danny Williams.”

“Dr. Anderson is still waiting on the labs he ordered.”

“What about the muscle contractions? Were you able to give him something?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t. I was going to find some heating pads to –”

“Why not?”

“We don’t want to give him an anti-inflammatory with his nausea and the clotting problems.”

“Right, you’re right.” Steve rubbed a hand over the front of his face; he had to hold it together. “Do you know what caused it?”

She frowned, her voice genuine with regret. “I’m sorry Commander, but until we get some of the labs back, we can’t speculate.”

Disappointment joined Steve’s increasing anxiety. “Thank you.”

He watched her return to the nurses’ station before he glanced down at the cell phone still gripped in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he hit the button for Chin and headed outside to talk.

***

Steve had to step out while they transferred Danny to his room, leaving him a reluctant observer of humanity. Four a.m. on a Saturday in the ER was like a like a three-ring circus of patients: car accident victims, a drug OD, an early pregnancy, and an incident involving a man and a pane glass window. 

Chin and Kono arrived just before Steve decided to kick out the drunk who had stumbled inside to take a nap in one of the waiting room chairs.

“Hey,” Chin called out, rushing over. His t-shirt was on inside out.

Kono followed right behind him. 

Steve hugged them both. Kono brushed away the hair that had fallen in front of her face, eyes flicking around the waiting room. “Any updates?”

“Nothing yet,” Steve said, frustrated. “They’re waiting on blood tests.”

Chin nodded his expression thoughtful. “I did a search before I got in the car, but there hasn’t been any recent gastrointestinal or any other type of stomach bugs going around.”

“We’re way passed that.” Steve shook his head, the night a heavy weight on his shoulders. “His blood isn’t producing the proper clotting factors, throwing up tonight only revealed the problem.”

“We had a great aunt with that condition when she took a ridiculous amount of aspirin for her headaches,” Kono offered, grasping at straws.

“We’ve had the same bottle of Tylenol in the bathroom for months.”

“Steve,” Chin gestured at someone walking toward them. 

A broad-shouldered man in blue scrubs with black-rimmed glasses and graying hair walked toward them. His movements spoke of seasoned military. “Hello, my name is Dr. Crandall; I’m the attending on duty. Are all of you with Detective Williams?”

“Yes, we are. I’m Commander McGarrett, Danny’s partner. This is the rest of his team.” Steve looked at the physician in confusion. “Where’s Dr. Anderson?”

“He was the resident on duty; I’m in charge of Detective Williams’ care.” Crandall moved them toward a corner of the waiting room. “As you know, Detective Williams presented with severe vomiting and hematemesis. His urine also contained blood. Our first round of tests indicated that his platelets were not clotting properly.” He waited a beat before continuing. “He’s exhibited increased tachycardia, headache, and muscle spasms that aggravating his respiratory function.”

Steve bit his lips, frustration mounting. “And do you have a diagnosis?”

“Not at this time.” Crandall consulted his I-pad. “I’ve ordered a full-work up after the initial blood work returned.”

“And what did that show?” Kono asked.

“His blood shows signs of neurotoxicity.”

The physician’s words hit Steve like a verbal punch to the solar plexuses. “Are you saying that Danny was poisoned?”

***

Dr. Crandall used the same expression Steve did with grieving families. “We’re not sure yet what caused the neurotoxicity, but yes, it is most likely poison.”

Steve’s mind pulsed with non-stop scenarios, ten million questions at the tip of his tongue, but every word, every thought died at his lips. 

“Did the test results tell you what type of poison?” Chin asked.

“No,” Crandall answered, pragmatic. “All we can confirm is the evidence of neurotoxicity while trying to narrow down what type.”

“Then have your labs put a rush on the tests,” Steve growled. “This is a law enforcement officer and a member of the Governor’s task force.”

“I understand how stressful this,” Crandall said keeping his voice even. He gave each of them eye contact, ending last with Steve. “Given the number of substances that can impact the nervous system, it is going to take time to run a full chemical analysis when we don’t know what we’re looking for.”

“You said there was evidence of toxicity,” Kono said, speaking up for the first time. “What is it exactly?”

Steve appreciated how she re-directed the questions. They were law enforcement; dissecting clues was their job.

“The biggest indicator is the coagulopathy, but that in conjunction with the nausea, muscle spasms, and increasing blood pressure all point to neurotoxicity.” 

“And will those things get worse?” Chin asked.

Crandall cleared his throat. “Until we can identify type of neurotoxin, we don’t have an effective treatment plan. So, yes, they will probably increase in severity over time.” 

“But _you are_ treating him?” Steve pressed, because it sounded like a lot of inaction and guesswork.

“All we can do is treat his symptoms until the rest of his labs come back.”

“Does he know?” Steve looked at Crandall, wondering if this stranger had told Danny that about being poisoned while he was alone, surrounding my sterile walls and machines.

“Not yet; we thought it would be best if he someone was there with him.”

A wave of relief washed over Steve before the cold realization of what was next. He felt a hand on his arm and looked over at Chin’s steady gaze, Kono moving to stand on Steve’s right side.

Chin nodded and Steve looked over at the doctor. “All three of us will be there.”

***

Steve stood in the corner of the waiting room, mustering his resolve before going in with Crandall to speak with Danny. Neither of them were strangers to danger, they had been with each other during bomb explosions, shoot-outs, standing side-by-side as they fought for their lives. 

But this was different. The threat level was impossible to assess and the not knowing, the _absolute lack_ of answers, was one of Danny’s biggest triggers. He would be terrified. _Steve_ was terrified.

He exhaled a long lungful of air, then inhaled again, holding his breath a few seconds before starting the cycle over again to calm his mind. Danny would come through this; Steve would ensure it. And it was his job to make Danny see it, to have a hundred percent faith that Danny would beat this thing, because Steve could crawl through every level of hell to keep him safe.

He glanced at the doors leading outside; Kono had stepped into the parking lot to call Lou. It’d been Steve’s decision to wait until now given Sunday was Samantha’s birthday. Steve balled his right fist until it shook, the muscle tremor running up the length of his arm. He had to retain control.

His cell phone vibrated from inside his pocket. Steve pulled it out, wondering if it was Lou calling to chew him out. But the number was unknown and Steve’s paranoia level went off the charts.

“Hello,” he answered suspicious.

 _“Commander McGarrett,”_ a voice with a thick accent replied. It was European or Slavic.

“Who’s this?” Steve demanded.

_“I must admit, Commander. I didn’t expect to be talking to you under these circumstances.”_

“Yeah? And what circumstances are those?”

The man hmmmed under his breath. _“That you’re still upright given you were the one who was supposed to be lying in a hospital bed.”_

“What are you talking about?” he seethed, the buzzing back in his ears.

_“I wanted to poison you, Commander, but what is that saying? I’ll make lemonade out of lemons.”_

“Who are you, you sonofabitch?” 

_“All in good time.”_

The line went dead. 

***

Anger coiled inside Steve’s gut as he stared at his phone, his arm shaking in barely controlled fury. Someone had poisoned Danny. _Hurt him._ Put him in the hospital hooked up to wires and tubes while an unknown substance flowed through his veins, possibly-- 

_No._ He couldn’t think that way. He had to lock those thoughts down, focus. Danny may not have been the intended target, but now Steve knew this nightmare been deliberate action against him. 

Why? What did the asshole want? Was it revenge? For what? 

He glanced around the hallways, there wasn’t anyone watching him. The waiting room contained the same family members from hours ago. He walked toward the windows, searched for any tails. Nothing.

Steve checked his battery ensuring it was charged. It was the only connection to those responsible for this hell. The only….

“Hey Steve,” Chin said, hurrying over. “The doc wants us to go and talk to Danny now.”

Crandall came around the corner and looked over at Steve and Chin in expectation. “Are you guys ready?”

Not by a long shot. Steve’s head whirled with his new information, the guilt burning a hole inside, but he didn’t have any details to share, nothing that could help them.

“Commander McGarrett?”

He couldn’t give into his anxiety; Danny needed shoring up, not torn down by the unknown.

“Steve…,” Kono stood in the middle of the hallway, waiting. 

Swallowing, Steve cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

***

Perhaps walking into Danny’s room together was the equivalent of shepherding in the four-horsemen. Chin and Kono took spots on side of Danny’s bed by the window while Steve stood the closet to the door. Dr. Crandall followed last, consulting his tablet. 

Danny physically deflated against the bed at the sight of them; it was definably the wrong decision. 

Steve kept his expression calm despite the fear raging inside, his mind dissecting every word from the phone call, his stomach twisting in knots. He had to be tough for Danny, be the rock. But Danny latched onto the thick vibe of dread in the room; his chest began rising with every fast tug of oxygen from the cannula.

Steve took Danny’s hand. It must have been all the confirmation that Danny needed that this was bad; the offered comfort only added to Danny’s growing alarm, the lines in his forehead doubling in worry.

Dr. Crandall took that opportune moment to explain to Danny about the test results, with Danny crushing Steve fingers in a vice grip with every passing second.

Chin’s expression remained stoic; Kono’s faltered as she started rubbing the front of her jeans.

“So, I’ve been poisoned and we’re clueless.” Danny spoke like a condemned man. 

“They’re still running tests,” Steve said, forcing reassurance into his words.

But Danny would have none of it. “Except we all know that there’s hundreds of ways to poison a person and the longer it takes to identify the toxin, the less time the victim has.”

“Danny,” Kono began.

Danny pushed himself further up in the bed, ignoring her. “And even if we figure out what’s damaging my cells and organs, it doesn’t mean there’s a treatment.”

“We don’t know that,” Kono argued, but her voice faltered, the unknown striking fear into them all.

“No, we don’t, we don’t know anything, do we?” Danny shot back. “And in the meantime, the poison continues eating away my insides.”

“It’s slow-acting, Danny.” Chin looked at him in challenge. “How many assassins use poison as a weapon of choice? You and Steve drove home, had dinner, and then went to bed. It took hours for this thing to take effect, if it was supposed to kill immediately, it should have done so by now.”

“Gee, thanks,” Danny mumbled. He slumped back against the bed, his complexion drained of color.

“No, Chin’s right.” Kono rested both hands on the bed rail, moving closer. “Poisoning is meant to incapacitate or it’s meant to kill. If someone wanted you dead, why pick something that doesn’t work instantaneous?”

Steve wanted to punch the wall; this was all meant for him.

“Or maybe the sicko just gets off on it.” Danny began fiddling with the edge of his bed sheet, avoiding eye contact with them. “I mean does it matter? I’ve been poisoned before; my lungs are probably already compromised. I lead a stressful life which must take its toll; heart disease runs in my family….”

“Danny,” Steve said, trying to calm him.

“Grace and Charlie,” Danny wheezed, his eyes darting around, his terrified gaze locking with Steve. “What about–”

“It’s almost seven in the morning; they’re both on their way to school.” Steve grasped Danny’s hand harder. “They don’t know yet.”

Danny stared at Steve, his voice cracking as he almost broke the bones in Steve’s fingers. “I don’t want them to see me when I’m…when I’m….”

“You’re not dying, listen to me. _You. Are. Not. Dying.”_ Steve bent over the railing until his face was inches away from Danny’s. “You’re sick, but you’re going to be fine. I will not let anything happen to you, understand me?”

“Yeah,” Danny whispered.

Steve hated this, hated seeing Danny, one of the bravest men he’s ever known, look so scared.

“Steve’s right,” Chin spoke after a stretch of silence. “While the doctors work on a treatment, we’ll find the people responsible.”

Steve thought back to the phone call, at the thick voice dripping in malice.

“Except if the motive is extortion then why hasn’t there been a demand?” Danny looked over at Chin and Kono, settling his gaze at Steve, his lips thinning. “Steve?”

“I’m going to find the person who did this to you, Danny. I promise.”

Danny stared at him in concern. “Steve…?”

Chin looked over at Steve his brow furrowed. Kono frowned, confused.

“I got a call a few minutes ago.” Steve’s voice shook as he battled to control it. “It only lasted a minute.”

“The people who did this contacted you?” Chin asked.

“Yeah.”

“And you were going to mention it when?” Danny asked, still staring at Steve. 

“Now. I wasn’t withholding it; it happened literally right before we walked in, I was still…processing….”

“Maybe next time you could process it faster,” Danny growled. 

Steve shook his head at his cowardice. Danny had every right to be pissed at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t….”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re sorry. We will discuss you not being honest at the beginning later. ” Danny flapped his hand at him, puffed out of breath. “What did they say?”

Steve stood straighter, his voice grit. “You weren’t supposed to be poisoned. I was the target.”

And he would do _anything_ to switch places with Danny, sparing him this grinder of pain.

“Did they say why?” Chin asked.

Steve stared at Danny, searching for his emotions, be it anger or blame.

“Steve,” Chin pressed. “Did say what they wanted?”

“No.” And that was the most damning thing of all. “They only told me that they were surprised that I wasn’t the one hospitalized.” Steve crouched to his haunches, bending over at an awkward angle, his voice ice. “But I swear to you Danny, they’ll call again. And when they do, we’ll be ready.”

***

Steve sat in the chair as Kono and Chin said their goodbyes and he remained sitting when one of the nurses came in to give Danny something for his increased nausea. 

“I’m sorry, Danny.”

“For what? For not telling me about the phone call or because of the poisoning?”

“Both.”

“You should have mentioned the call earlier. I know you have a habit of burying the lede but when it comes to threats against a member of our family, you better damn well make it a priority to share it with the rest of us.” Danny clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut as he panted hard through a bout of pain.

Steve rose from his chair, but Danny threw up his right arm, batting it against Steve’s chest. After a several agonizing seconds, Danny pressed the back of his head against his pillows, breathing heavy in long inhales and exhales. 

“However,” he continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “you are not allowed to apologize for not being the one in this bed.”

“Danny…”

“No. Do not stand there and regret that you were are not poisoned. Yeah, I know it’s futile, because you’re _you._ Mr. Sacrifice who jumps on a grenade to save everyone but yourself.” Danny swallowed and wrapped both arms around his stomach. “While this sucks, I’m glad you’re not sick. I love you and it would kill me to see you….”

Steve shoved down the railing and rested his body against Danny’s and held him close. Danny wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him even tighter.

“I promise you, Danny, I promise I’ll—”

Steve’s words were muffled Danny’s shushing. It was unfair; Steve was supposed to protect Danny, give him all the security and reassurance in the world. 

And Steve vowed to fulfill his promise.

***

Steve stared at the timeline he created documenting the last five days. They had take-out during every surveillance shift, creating fifteen opportunities to contaminate their food or drinks. He leaned back in his chair and stared at his laptop, his eyes straying to his cell phone. It’d been three hours since he received that call.

Someone knocked on his door. Steve looked up and waved Lou over.

“Hey.” Lou walked toward Steve’s desk. “Chin and Kono are canvassing the bar you and Danny went to last night to interview the staff and see if they have and security footage.”

“Good. I’ve got the receipts from all restaurants and fast-food joints we ordered from during the stakeout.”

“Any thoughts on suspects?”

Steve rubbed at his eyebrow. “I pulled lists on recent parolees and suspects awaiting trial. But no one stands out who has the connections to buy or manufacture a sophisticated poison.” He picked up the pad of paper he’d written some notes on. “Nor fits the profile.”

“What profile is that?” Lou asked peering over the desk to catch a glance.

“Someone who is patient, meticulous, intelligent and vindictive.” Lou raised an eyebrow in curiosity and Steve gave him a shrug. “I used help work-up profiles on terror suspects when I was in Naval Intelligence. It was pretty basics stuff, but it’s a start.”

“What’s your gut telling you?”

“I don’t know.” Steve needed a target for his frustration, a suspect to hunt. “If I hadn’t put a bullet in Wo Fat’s head, I’d say this has his level of complexity….”

“But?”

Steve chewed on his lip regarding Wo Fat’s blood-lust. “He enjoyed being up front and personal.” He felt Lou’s worried gaze on him and Steve looked up and offered an apologetic look. “I’m sorry you’re missing Samantha’s birthday.”

It was a diversion tactic, one Lou allowed. “Hey man, don’t you worry about that. She’d rather spend it with her giggling friends anyway.”

Steve’s cell phone rang; the display read unknown caller. His chest tightened in anticipation. 

Lou pulled out his own phone. “I’ll tell Jerry to trace the call.”

They’d been anticipating this. Grabbing the phone, Steve waited a beat, clearing his head of all emotion. Lou nodded that Jerry was ready. Steve exhaled, one, two, three. He put the call on speaker.

“McGarrett,” he answered.

 _“Commander.”_ The man pronounced with a hard _r._

Steve ground his teeth against the desire to threaten the suspect with bodily harm, but this man was a terrorist, and it was Steve’s job to negotiate, to do whatever it took for Danny. “What do you want?” 

_“I want the Krylov file.”_

Steve frowned, caught off guard by the demand. “I’m not familiar with that.”

_“No, but Doris McGarrett stole it from me many years ago and I want it back.”_

He balled his right hand into a fist. What the hell? When would his mother’s actions ever stop haunting him? “I don’t have any idea where she is.”

_“Then you better find her.”_

“Listen to me; I have zero clues about her location. If Doris McGarrett doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.”

_“Then you better figure something out for Detective Williams’ sake.”_

“Wait!”

But the line clicked dead again. Steve stared at Lou who was talking to Jerry. “Well?” he demanded. 

Lou held out his hand, his face drawing tight before he glanced over at Steve. “Jerry said the signal was being bounced all over the place. By the time he started working his magic, the call ended.”

Steve paced in front of his desk; his jaw muscles spasmed, his pulse throbbed in his ears, the absolute lack of control enraging him.

“Steve,” Lou said quietly.

“This whole thing, this whole _fucking_ nightmare was orchestrated to draw-out Doris,” Steve growled, fuming. “I should have figured it out earlier. Poisoning is right out of the spy handbook. It’s a classic cold-war tactic.” His chest heaved with every circuit he made pass his desk. “And you know what Lou, this scheme, this elaborate plan? It never had a snowball’s chance in hell of working.” 

Lou crossed his arms, watching him. “If your mother is hiding that far underground, the chances of finding out you were poisoned were going to be a long-shot.”

Steve snorted bitterly at the hard truth. “Doris still has her network of eyes and ears. She would’ve found out, but she wouldn’t fall for the bait. She would never give an enemy the satisfaction.”

“I don’t follow.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Lou was a family guy; Steve was glad he didn’t understand. “If my mother didn’t come out of hiding after I killed Wo Fat, she’s not going to come forward now.”

Lou’s face fell in realization of Steve’s words. He opened his mouth to say something than looked like he changed his mind. Standing, he placed his hands in his hips. “So, what’s our next move?”

There was only one option. Steve held Lou’s gaze in harsh determination. “We out maneuver this asshole.”

***


	2. Chapter 2

***  
***  
Sitting behind his desk, Steve rearranged the letters in _Krylov_ , growling in frustration when nothing came to fruition. He heard a tap on his office window and nodded at Kono to come inside.

Kono walked over carrying a cup of coffee, but the weariness in her steps spoke of fatigue. It was lunchtime and everyone was running on only a few hours of sleep.

“Hey. Chin and I finished going over the security footage from the bar last night, but the cameras were aimed only over the registers.”

“What about background checks on the employees?”

“Nothing except for a few parking tickets and a DUI. They’re pretty clean.” She took a quick sip of her coffee. “However, one of the bar-backs called in sick last night and a buddy filled in for him.”

“A _buddy?”_

Steve didn’t believe in coincidence and neither did Kono based on her tone of voice. “Yeah, that’s what we thought, but when we interviewed the staff, none of them had ever seen the guy before.”

It sounded like a break they desperately needed. Steve took the torch from Kono and ran with it. “So, a bar-back calls in sick, a guy none of employees had ever seen before comes in to cover his shift, and no one batted an eye?”

“Apparently the owner is pretty laid back about rules. It was a slow night and the head bartender’s wife is about to have a baby.” Kono rolled her eyes. “They didn’t think much of it.”

“Do we have a name and number?”

“Josh. No number. Chin started reviewing footage from the parking-lot, there’s a camera on the staff entrance.” Kono took a seat in the chair in front of Steve’s desk. “What about you?”

“I’ve reached out to a few contacts about any old ops with the name Krylov; I’m still waiting to hear back.” Steve stared at his laptop, his inbox was still empty. He didn’t have a lot of faith in getting any results. “I put a few feelers out on Doris, but I don’t expect anything.”

Kono looked down at the notebook Steve had been scribbling in. “And this?”

“I tried rearranging all the letters in Krylov to see if it was an anagram, but there’s not enough to form anything.” He waved at his computer. “Ivan Krylov was a Russian military officer in the 1770s who went on to become one of their most famous fabulists.”

“Fables, huh? Like morality tales with talking animals?”

Steve rubbed at his temple. “Yeah. Krylov was known for satirizing contemporary political situations in his tales.” It was another dead end.

“I talked to Jerry; he thinks he can figure out the code being used to bounce the cell phone signal of our suspect with more time.”

“More time,” Steve muttered under his breath. He stared at his empty inbox again, wondering how much more they had left to spare. “This mystery bar-back is our only lead. We need to put all our resources on it. Have a CSI team go over every inch of the bar and compare it to their employees.”

“We’ll have to get a warrant to fingerprint the staff for comparison.”

Steve stared at Kono. They never let legal barriers stop them before, but it sometimes greased the wheels. “Ask Judge Krieg; he owes us.”

“If the guy poisoned Danny at the bar, and he’s a pro, he may have not left a print.”

“Then we question the employee who called in sick.” But something told Steve they only discover a body.

“Lou’s already headed to his apartment with a couple of UNI’s. What about—”

Steve’s cell phone rang and he snatched it up, his eyes narrowing on the number, his stomach filling with dread. “It’s the hospital.”

***

Dr. Crandall’s office was only big enough for a desk with a bookcase behind it and a few chairs. The little floor spaces that remained was filled with stacks of cardboard boxes, medical journals, and books. It spoke of disorganization and a thirst for knowledge. 

The doc didn’t waste time with platitudes, cutting to the chase once Steve and Kono sat down. “We’ve narrowed down the cause of Detective Williams’ neurotoxicity to snake envenomation.”

Steve stared at Crandall incredulous as the words sunk in. “Danny was poisoned by snake venom?”

“His blood labs displayed a dramatic fall in platelets and a decline in his red and white blood counts.” Crandall consulted his tablet, scrolling through several screens. “These abnormalities and in addition to changes in his enzymes led us to test for venom antigens.”

“I don’t understand….” Steve’s voice trailed off. This really was cold-war crap. He had vague recollections about the KGB using this method of poisoning in the past before they moved on to polonium. But there was something else…

“Sonofabitch,” Steve growled. Kono looked up at him in question and Steve shook his head, furious. “One of Ivan Krylov's most famous fables was _The Peasant and the Snake_.”Steve had studied the man’s biography, grasping for clues regarding the case. 

Kono’s eyes grew big; they both knew it wasn’t a coincidence. Crandall cleared his throat and Steve mumbled an apology for him to go on. 

“While snake-bite victims are rare on Hawaii because it’s illegal to own them, some of our residents have worked in the Philippines and recognized the signs of envenomation. They had never heard of ingesting venom before, but the heavy proteins could be masked by anything bitter tasting.”

“Like beer,” Steve said.

“Alcohol could conceal the taste and it wouldn’t take much to inflict this type of damage.”

Kono wiggled uncomfortably in her chair. “This means you can treat it, right.”

Crandall’s expression betrayed nothing; he folded his hands on top of his desk. “We just did another blood draw so we could determine the epidemiology of the venom so we could try to identify the type of snake.”

“And if you identify the snake you can replicate a treatment,” Kono prodded. 

“If we can determine the level of venom, it may be possible to use the antigenaemia to create enough antibodies to treat Detective Williams.”

It was one more piece of the puzzle; reducing the remaining variables into more manageable pieces. Steve could work with this, give Danny options, hope. “That’s good; it sounds like you have a plan.”

“Commander McGarrett, we will do everything in our power to develop an effective course of treatment, but without anti-venom infusion from an exact species match, we may not be able to counter the effects of poisoning.”

No, not an option. They had something tangible and it was their job to utilize it to full effectiveness. Steve could leverage the full might of the navy if he had to, and he would he’d call in every favor, or trade for future ones. Whatever it took.

He leaned all his weight over Crandall’s desk, used his bulk and steel exterior to punctuate his next words. “Run your tests and identify the snake venom used to poison my partner. You I.D. that damn thing and I’ll have a military transport ready to fly anywhere it takes to get the correct anti-venom, you understand?”

Steve was impressed with Crandall: he didn’t flinch or swallow, and he kept a cool professional expression reflective of a previous military background. “As soon as we indentify the type of snake, you’ll be the first person I call.”

Steve stood, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor as Kono rose to her feet alongside him. “Good, I’ll be expecting it.”

 

***

Steve picked through the food on Danny’s untouched lunch tray and peeled the lid off the container of applesauce and stuck a plastic spoon in it. “Here, eat this.”

Danny side-eyed the container with a frown of contempt, burst capillaries underneath his skin made it look like he’d been punched in the face. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t had any food in hours.”

“That’s because I can’t keep anything down.” Danny braced an arm across his chest against a wave of coughing. 

Steve winced. “Maybe if you –”

“Just stop it, would ya?” Danny coughed again and grabbed a tissue to cover his mouth until the jag was over. Sagging into his pillows, he stared at the tissue in his hand and crumpled it. “Awesome.” 

Steve noticed flakes of blood on Danny’s lips and in the corners of his mouth. Feeling helpless, Steve picked up the cup of water and held up for Danny. “Drink this.”

“You know my gums started bleeding an hour ago,” Danny said without taking the cup. He stared at the ceiling his voice a harsh rasp. “In addition to my wonderful hacking cough, they said to expect my kidneys to continue to get worse, and they scheduled an echocardiogram to scan my heart….”

“You’re going to beat this.” Steve couldn’t listen to a doom and gloom speech. “The doctors know the–”

“Snake venom.” Danny chuckled, morose. “Do you know who gets poisoned on an island where snakes practically don’t exist? You’re looking at him, Danny Williams, the most unlucky SOB on the planet.”

“A few hours ago we didn’t know what you were poisoned with; now the docs have something to help developed a treatment.”

Danny pushed himself more upright with shaky arms. “I was poisoned by some ex-spy or crazy bad guy associated with your equally crazy mother. Do you really think it’s as simple as a rattlesnake or some other scaly thing from the local pet shop from the mainland? I guarantee it some ultra-rare, lab-created super toxin.”

Steve bent over the bedrail until he was inches from Danny’s bruised-looking face and ran a hand through Danny’s sweaty hair. “You have to fight this. Do _not_ quit for one second. You fight this every minute of every hour until you beat it. Because I am going to do everything in my power–”

Danny pressed a finger against Steve’s lips, hushing him. “After everything we’ve been through, all the explosions and shoot-outs, after surviving every day of you driving my car, I’m not just going to lie down and die.” He took a drag off his oxygen and looked at Steve with profound sadness in his eyes. “But I’m a realist….”

“No, you’re the biggest negative Nancy in the world,” Steve said with an exhausted smile. 

Danny rolled his eyes and Steve kissed the fingers still resting over his mouth.

Danny’s expression flickered with a familiar faked annoyance, his lips twisting in a faint smile before the weight of the world seemed to crush him against the bed, the grin disappearing. “Steve…I’m probably going to get sicker before I getter better….”

But he didn’t need to finish his request, because Steve knew; he didn’t need Danny to say the words. 

“I’ll bring the kids here; make sure they get to see you before hitting any more rough patches,” he promised.

Danny’s whispered thank you was a stabbing pain inside Steve’s chest.

***

Steve prided himself on maintaining strict emotional discipline; losing focus cost lives. He held it together during fire-fights, while disarming a bomb, or coming toe-to-toe with warlords. But standing outside Danny’s room waiting on Grace and Charlie took every ounce of self-control to maintain a sense of composure.

Kono held Charlie’s hand as she led him and Grace down the hall. The second Grace noticed Steve; she raced over and plowed into him.

Grace wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him, desperate. She spoke franticly into his chest, his shirt muffling her voice. 

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” he reassured her, holding Grace until she quit shaking. “I promise you, Danno is going to be fine. He doesn’t feel good right now, so you have to be brave, but he’s going to get better, you hear me?”

She pulled away, her face wet and puffy. “Do the doctors know how to make him better?”

Steve risked a glance at Kono. She continued to look after Charlie a few feet out of the way and nodded at him, encouraging. 

“They’re still figuring out exactly what drugs to use,” Steve told Grace. “But yeah, they know what they have to do.”

Grace peered over Steve’s shoulder at the closed door to Danny’s room then back at Kono and Charlie. “Maybe I should go in first?”

It tore-up Steve’s heart to see such a level of maturity in Grace’s worry at exposing Charlie to something he might not be ready for. While he agreed, Steve wasn’t sure how much energy Danny had in reserve to appear healthier than he was for two separate visits.

Grace hugged herself and Steve crouched down and rested both hands on top of her shoulders, squeezing them gently. “Honey, I know this is difficult, but I think it would help your dad if he saw you and your brother.” Steve smiled for her, not overbearing, she was too smart to fall for disingenuous. “I’ll go in with you.”

“Okay.” Grace took a deep breath and stood straighter before she turned toward her younger brother. “Come on, let’s go see Daddy.”

Holding out her hand, Charlie wrapped his fingers around his sister’s. Opening the door, Steve took a deep breath of his own and walked in with them.

***

Steve knew Danny; he had the book of his facial tics, mannerisms, and the pitch-level of his tone of voice memorized. Danny put on a brave facade; he kept his tone upbeat, his sentences simple, which meant no long drags on his oxygen. But the pain lines around in his face and the occasional wince from a muscle spasm gave away how much he was hiding.

Charlie sat at the foot of Danny’s bed and played with the water pitcher and cups while Grace sat in the chair, clutching her father’s hand. 

Their conversation was stilted, but Danny tried to keep it going with forced enthusiasm. “How’s the history paper coming?”

“It’s fine.”

“Did you ever find out about the whole sugar plantation thing?”

Grace’s eye grew large in moral outrage. “You mean when people from the mainland displaced all the natives to plant sugar cane?” 

“Um, yeah, that.”

Steve listened to Grace discuss going to the library with her friends yesterday, how she got in trouble for talking too loud. And how they went out for veggie burgers afterward, Danny’s forehead scrunching in confusion at his daughter’s new preferred lunch choice.

Steve watched every fought-hard second that Danny carried on for his children, awed at Danny’s strength and resilience. 

And Steve saw when Danny reached his limits, the way he curled his hands to conceal the shaking, the sweat dotting his forehead. How he squeezed his eyes closed when Grace looked at the TV, the added wheeze in his voice when he spoke.

After a moment, Steve rested a hand on Grace’s arm. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

Danny sunk against the bed and turned his head away. But Steve knew it was to hide his remorse that his children had seen him weak and hurting. It ripped Steve up into a million pieces. 

Grace hugged her father like she planned on never letting go. Danny wrapped an arm around her shoulder, rubbing a hand up and down her back.

He hated having to drag her away, but Steve coaxed Grace toward the door and looked over at Danny. “I’ll make sure they get home safe,” he promised. 

Grace took Charlie’s hand as she walked him into the hall. Steve looked back to say goodbye to Danny, but Danny had grabbed the emesis bowl and started retching.

***

Steve stood in the corner of the waiting room with Kono, torn between hunting down a nurse to check in on Danny and watching over the kids. It took everything to keep from pacing. “Thanks for bringing them here.”

“Of course,” Kono said without hesitancy. “I’ll drop them at Rachel’s and head over to HQ to check-in with Chin.”

Steve did a quick glance behind him as Grace took Charlie to the bathroom. “I want a UNI outside the house as a precaution.” He wasn’t taking any chances.

Kono nodded, glancing at the bathroom doors before talking, her voice lower. “Have you made any progress with your contacts?”

“Not yet.”

“What about Joe White?” she asked, clearing her throat.

“Nothing.” Steve bit his lip in agitation while he mulled another avenue, one that would piss Danny off to high heaven. But he had few choices left. “I may have another option, I….”

“Uncle Steve?”

Steve turned around, caught off guard by Grace’s approach. Unacceptable, he needed to remain sharp. He tried clamping down at his own annoyance, keeping his voice soft. “Yes, honey?”

“Do you know who poisoned my dad?”

The question knocked Steve for a loop and he forced away the claw of guilt still digging through his gut. He glanced at Kono who was showing Charlie something on her phone, but she peered over the little boy’s shoulder, watching Steve with sympathy.

“I’m still trying to figure that out, sweetheart,” Steve answered in all honesty.

“I really hope….” Grace swallowed hard. “I hope you catch him and throw him in jail forever.”

***

Steve sat in the seat of his truck, burning holes through his dashboard in thought. The U.S government invested over four hundred thousands dollars to train Steve and a million annually to keep him operational and deployable overseas. 

Hundreds of missions and black ops, skilled in tactics and critical thinking, and he couldn’t prevent people he cared about from dying. 

Freddie riddled with bullets and left behind in North Korea. His father murdered while Steve was on the phone with him, Jenna gunned down in front of his eyes—Danny, lying in bed, poisoned instead of Steve.

He pounded his fist against the steering wheel until his hand throbbed.

All that fucking training, a head filled with national secrets, hands that could kill a man dozens of ways and Steve couldn’t do anything to save Danny. Steve had been trained as a weapon, an indispensible asset to his government. 

It was time he used those same resources for his own benefit. 

***

Steve drove to the nearest gas station and strode inside, searching for a disposable cell phone. After paying for one in cash, he sat in his truck and stared out the window toward the hospital parking-lot. He couldn’t keep running into dead-ends, not with every minute a strike against Danny.

Jaw clenched, he punched a thirteen digit phone number memorized from years ago. 

_“Your operator number, please.”_

“287-36432-7543, Alpha, Omega, Tango.”

_“That number is inactive.”_

“But it’s still in the system.”

_“Sir –”_

Steve didn’t have time for bureaucracy. “Inactive does not mean expired.”

_“Sir, I can’t—”_

“I’m not requesting support; I’m requesting a communication relay.” There was a long pause and Steve pressed forward in a clipped tone of authority. “Connect me to Blackbird, 386-48470-4323; do not make me repeat my request.”

_“Password, sir.”_

“Dogs of War.”

_“That password is outdated.”_

“That password has no expiration date. Now connect me to Blackbird.” Steve squeezed the cell phone, his fingers turning white.

_“Connecting, one moment, sir.”_

Steve didn’t expect to reach a live person and when he heard the beep. He rattled off his number and security code, and then kept his message succinct. “You know what I’ve been searching for. I want a full intel package, programs, assignments, operatives. Everything. I’m calling in my marker and offering you up one of mine return. And I need it ASAP.”

Rolling down his window, Steve broke the cheap phone in half and tossed the remains in the nearby trashcan. Despite wanting nothing more than to return to the hospital, Steve started the engine and gunned it toward headquarters. 

***

Steve stood around the surface table with his team for a debriefing. It was after six at night and everyone had been going non-stop for almost twelve hours on little sleep, yet they showed no signs of slowing down despite fatigue. 

Lou tapped on the keyboard, bringing up a set of crime scene photos. “This is Chip Reynolds, the bar-back that called into work and sent his ‘friend’ in his place. He got a double tap to the temple for his trouble.”

“A pro-hit,” Steve said, studying the screen. “Prints?”

“Nadda.” Lou scowled and folded his arms. “There was tape residue around Reynolds’ wrists and two of his fingers were broken in several places.”

“Restrained and tortured and forced into calling in sick.” Kono shook her head in disgust. “That’s a pretty elaborate plan.”

“What was the TOD?” Chin asked.

“Yesterday between four and eight p.m.,” Lou answered. “Plenty of time to slip into the bar.”

Chin took his turn with the table, bringing up several CSI reports. “We compared all the prints from the bar to the staff and came up with nothing. Security footage was a bust, too. Our guy either avoided the camera in the back-parking lot or he entered from the front.”

“We’re missing something,” Steve growled, searching for the elusive puzzle-piece.

Kono snapped her fingers. “How did the suspect know you guys were going to _Rumfire_ to begin with?”

Steve bowed his head in deep thought. “I don’t know. Danny didn’t start talking about it until we wrapped up on the scene. After I changed clothes, I was willing to do anything to stop him from carrying on about their draft selection on tap.” 

Regret gnawed away at him, knowing he’d do anything to hear Danny natter away, whole and healthy. 

“Either our suspect had you guys under his own surveillance or they were at the scene,” Chin pointed out. “We’re talking someone or a group who are nimble and damn resourceful to react that quickly.” 

Lou released a heavy sigh. “That’s a lot of trouble just to figure out where you guys were going for dinner.”

“So is poisoning me to get to Doris,” Steve ground out. Anger bloomed inside his chest.

“It supports the theory that the poison is low-acting; our suspect took a huge chance.” Chin looked over at Steve. “Theoretically, Doris could’ve been half a world away before finding out.”

“But if all he wanted was a file, then he didn’t need Doris to be here.” Not that Steve thought she’d come out of hiding. He cringed, thinking. “Chin, see if we have any pictures of the surveillance scene after we busted Tanner. If our suspect was around, maybe we got lucky.”

***

Steve needed to be pounding down doors, scouring a scene, taking in suspects. Anything to keep from feeling like he was spiraling through an endless black hole, he needed answers and damn a timeline. His stomach growled it was way past dinnertime.

Picking up the phone in his office, he dialed the hospital, using the direct number for Danny’s doctor. It still took over twenty minutes to get the man on the line. 

“Do you have an update on Danny’s condition?”

_“We were able to get a consultation with a toxicologist who works closely with the zoo and indentified the species of snake. It is the Echis Carinatus, a Saw-Scaled Viper.”_

Steve allowed himself a moment of hope. “That’s good news.”

_“The majority of Echis Carinatus populate West Africa and India, but the sub species in Sri Lanka has a unique envenomation and toxicity to the enzyme profile—”_

“Doctor Crandall, just bottom-line it for me.” Steve didn’t have the patience for medical babble.

_“The best form of treatment is poly-specific anti-snake venom serum either from the hospital in Jaffna or Mannar. If you’re able to leverage any of your connections to–”_

“E-mail me exactly what you need, dosages, species, labs, whatever.” 

_“I’ll have the toxicologist e-mail you right away. In the meantime, we’ll adjust the current treatment the best we can with the supplies from the zoo’s reptile department.”_

Turning around, Steve walked toward a corner of the room. “What is your prognosis if…?”

_“Commander, I can’t–”_

“If we can’t get this specific venom, what can we except?” Steve paced in a tiny circuit. “I mean, worst case scenario.” 

There was a long pause before Crandall began speaking. _“His current symptoms would get worse; muscles spasms would have an increased spasmodic impact on his lungs. Continued tissue necrosis. Internal hemorrhage, renal failure, and finally -- heart failure.”_

Closing his eyes against the onslaught of anger, grief and pain, Steve pushed it all down, forced it to the back of his mind. Failure was not an option.

“I’ll make sure you get whatever you need,” he promised the doctor.

***

Steve stared at his phone, squeezing it inside his fist, resisting the urge to throw it against the wall. After calling in every favor and utilizing the power of the governor’s office to fast-track a transport to Sri Lanka, he still didn’t have a confirmation that a team was on its way.

His people had come for him in North Korea, and they had rescued Danny from a Columbian jail. They had crisscrossed the globe over the years for one another, but he couldn’t get a single flight to one damn island.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Steve whirled around to find Jerry standing in the doorway. “I don’t even think they’re worth that much.”

“They’ve got to be worth at least a few bucks.” Jerry frowned when Steve didn’t react and shifted from one foot to the other. “So, um, when’s the last time you slept?”

It took a second for the question to register inside his frazzled brain. Steve shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“Maybe you should catch some Z’s on your sofa or something?”

Steve knew he was running on zero cylinders, but was it was a non-argument. Jerry seemed to sense it was a topic he wouldn’t win. “Were you able to get a flight to Sir Lanka?”

“I’m still waiting on the green-light,” Steve growled, pissed at the stonewalling. “It seems the political climate there is very unstable, and Sri Lanka has bans on all travel there, military or civilian.”

“Yeah, they just had three assassinations in the last two months. There’s even rumors of insurgent groups trying to sow the seeds for another civil war.”

Steve arched an eyebrow at him and Jerry shrugged. “I kind of follow the whole shady world of assassinations and when I heard the poison orientated from Sri Lanka, I went to usual message-boards to read-up on the current political situation, which is, well, not very good.”

He couldn’t deal with this now, not with the clock ticking down. “Was there any other reason why you dropped by, Jerry?”

Jerry pulled out one of those large padded envelopes from where he had it clutched between his arm and side. “Yeah, this package arrived addressed to your attention.”

“Then how did you end-up with it?”

“I was expecting the moon rock I won in an auction to arrive.”

Steve stared at Jerry in disbelief before he accepted the FedEx package and scanned the front. It was same-day mail, in fact, the printed labeled showed it’s been processed only an hour ago. Cautiously intrigued, Steve pulled out a pocket knife and cut open the large envelope. He made quick-work through layers of bubble wrap, revealing an external hard drive. His heart started to pound.

“You should have told me you were shopping for one of those; I could have gotten you a better deal. That model doesn’t even hold a terabyte of data.” 

“I doubt it needs to,” Steve muttered. Holding it like a precious egg, he carefully set it on his desk and linked it to his laptop.

“Dude!” Jerry almost knocked over the office chair in his excitement. “Never connect a device from an unknown origin to your computer. What are you thinking?”

Steve ignored Jerry’s outrage of horror as he searched the directory of files, his breath quickening as he read the contents.

“What is it?” Jerry asked, trying to peer close enough to sneak a peek.

Flicking his gaze up and away from the screen, Steve stared at Jerry hard enough that the other man scrambled several steps back. 

Satisfied that the contents of the hard drive were safe from prying eyes, Steve explained the importance of the device. “This is an archive of cold-war operations and dossiers of Eastern European and Russian agents who are still living.”

Jerry stared wide-eyed at Steve. “Holy shit.”

***

Steve ignored Jerry as he hovered. The database was larger than expected, filled with surveillance pictures, hundreds of hours of video and years worth of reports. But it wasn’t insurmountable, the question was: what was he searching for?

“You know,” Jerry said, inching closer to the side of Steve’s desk. “If you need a second set of eyes, I could download the contents to my hard drive and we could split the work.”

“The files are encrypted.”

“So?”

Steve didn’t look-up from typing. “The level of anti-copying protection on this is—”

“Nowhere sophisticated enough to prevent me from retrieving it.”

“I know you want to help, but I’ve got this.” Steve could feel Jerry’s disappointment. Sighing, he glanced over at him. “I’m running an algorithm of specific key-words that should help find what I’m looking for.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Jerry asked, pulling up a chair to sit beside Steve.

Jerry was like a curious child inside museum; normally it was an asset, but right now it was distracting. 

Steve continued creating his search profile. “Anything that leads me to the identification of the suspect who poisoned Danny or any clues what the Krylov file contains.”

“That’s assuming this guy is ex-KGB or a spy at all.”

“My source wouldn’t have sent this to me if he wasn’t.”

“Based on that logic, that means your source actually knows who did it. Why else would he—”

“My contact knows why I need this intel, he might not have the answers, but he wouldn’t have sent this to me unless I was in the ballpark.” Steve glanced up at Jerry and stared.

Rising from his chair, Jerry hooked a thumb toward the door. “I think my services would be more suited updating the schedule of those visiting the hospital.”

“That would be nice, thank you.” The rest of the ohana had been taking shifts to sit with Danny and give him mostly silent support. Even if it was from inside the hall to give him privacy.

Steve’s algorithm searched the dossiers of all agents over the age of fifty, including poisoning and assassinations. There were over forty results of men who had uses ricin, cyanide, arsenic, digitoxin, digitalis, mustard gas, and even morphine. But nothing regarding snake venom. 

He refined his search on those who operated in Asia, India, and Sri Lanka, but that only narrowed the results to thirty-six. Staring at the results, Steve cursed under his breath for not cross-checking one of the most important search terms. After he typed in his mother’s name, the listed narrowed to six names.

Now he was getting somewhere.

***

Steve could work over twenty-fours without rest; he’d gone on longer stretches during high-risk missions. But his team needed sleep to recharge and he wouldn’t let them push themselves too far. It was already three in the morning. They gathered in his office for an update, Kono and Chin took spots on the sofa, Lou in the chair and Jerry hovered by the door.

“As you know,” Steve began from where he sat behind his desk. “I obtained documents on various former Eastern European and Russian operatives –”

“Are you going to share what kind of favor or bribe you made to get said documents?” Lou asked.

Steve didn’t bother answering the question as he scrolled through his laptop, aware of the glances of suspicion Chin and Kono shared with each other and Lou. 

“I’ve narrowed down the suspect pool down to six people, all ex-KGB. Doris had two under long period of surveillance, three she had a physical altercations regarding after action reports, and one guy she even teamed-up with to go after a former Stasi agent.”

“Backgrounds?” Chin asked.

“All six engaged in wet work operations, deploying a variety of techniques, including poisoning.”

While nothing on record indicated venom as a weapon of choice, the technique had been used during WWII and into the early days of the Cold War. The person they sought either had a thing for history or a disgusting flare for the dramatic. 

“Do the files give any indication of their current whereabouts?” Kono asked.

“Since most are retired, no. But I found a file containing the current movement for three of them: Nikanor Koptsev,Yevdokimov Levkin, and Georgiy Assonov.” 

Steve started turning around the laptop to show them the dossier on each when his phone rang; it was a number from Pearl-Hickman. He stood up from his chair, his adrenaline pumping. “McGarrett.”

_“This is Commander Wade Gutches.”_

“Wade?”Steve was pleasantly surprised to hear from him. “Are you arranging the transport to –”

_“It’s a no-go, Commander. I’m sorry.”_

“What?”

_“Sri Lanka is under a state of emergency, we can’t enter their airspace.”_

“Wade –”

_“JSOC won’t authorize a non-military mission, especially in such a politically unstable climate.”_

“There has to be a way, what if I –”

_“There’s no going to India either. Command is aware of some of your previous unsanctioned missions, they have you locked down. I wouldn’t even be surprised if they monitor future communications with any former teammates or those stationed on base. They even got an eye on your helo pilot pal.”_

Steve stood in front of his desk in stunned silence. 

_“I wish I could help….”_

“Is that why they had you call, huh? To keep me from finding another way?”

_“They felt it’d sound better coming from a friend. They’re even shipping my team out in the next hour for a mission on an opposite landmass.”_

Steve scowled, fuming. “Do you think this will stop me?”

_“No, because a SEAL never quits. I wish you the best of luck, Steve. I really do.”_

The call ended and Steve dropped the phone on top of his desk. His pulse thrummed, anger building inside his chest, hot and overwhelming. He tossed the notebooks off his desk, several pens flying with them. But it wasn’t loud enough; it didn’t release the pain burning though his veins. 

Steve grabbed the laptop to throw it next, but hands rested on top of his wrists, gently pressing down. Chest heaving, Steve looked up into Chin’s face.

“Breathe,” Chin said. “In and out.”

He counted his breaths, his heart rate slowing to a loud _thud, thud, thud._ Steve exhaled all the air out of his lungs. “I’m going to find a way,” Steve muttered like a mantra. “Nothing’s going to stop me.”

“Nothing’s going to stop _us.”_ Chin squeezed Steve’s shoulders, strong and reassuring. _“We’re_ going to help Danny, together.”

Another hand touched his shoulder in kindness. Steve turned toward Kono and she and Chin guided Steve toward his leather sofa. 

“Come on boss, take a moment,” she coaxed.

“Take more than one,” Lou added. But his voice sounded far away.

Steve felt heavy, frayed, and drained of all energy. He didn’t realize he was on sitting down until he felt someone pulling at his legs. He tried standing.

Two different hands rested on his chest and he looked over in confusion at Lou and Chin. 

“You ain’t going to do Danny any good if you’re exhausted,” Lou said. “It’s almost dawn. You’ve been at this for overa day, it’s timeto regroup.”

He was surrounded by his team, a barricade of determination. Steve knew the drill; he’d reprimanded enough people regarding proper rest, but there wasn’t time.

“Two hours,” Chin told him. “We’ll all take a break and go over our next steps.”

“One,” Steve countered.

“An hour and a half,” Chin said then turned off the light before closing the door.

Once the room dimmed, Steve couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer despite how hard he fought.

***

“Commander McGarrett?”

Steve heard his name echo inside his head.

“Um, Steve?”

No, not inside his head, from a few feet away. Steve blinked in the darkness, his eyes gritty, his mouth dry. 

“Are you awake?”

Steve turned his head to find Jerry peering over him. “What the hell?”

“I might have found something important.”

Steve swung his legs so he was sitting up against the sofa. “Like what?”

“First, please don’t yell at me.”

_“Jerry.”_

“I borrowed your laptop while you were sleeping and I found something.”

“You…,” Steve forced his anger away and tried focusing on Jerry’s anxious face. “What did you find?”

“An entire file on a Russian freighter sitting off the coast of Oahu. I mean, it’s like something out of _Call of Duty._ Schematics, satellite images, there’s even a link to obtain its current location. It’s like someone handed you a—”

“An intelligence package for a mission,” Steve finished for him, completely wide-awake.

***

Steve paced in front of the surface table as he brought the team up to speed. His laptop was hooked up so all the files could be easily read.

“This is the _Georgiy Agafonov,_ built to transport fruit and vegetables for Russia. It arrived ten days ago and has been anchored five miles outside of port for the last two.” Steve scrolled through schematics of the ship, explaining the layout, and basic function. “Even though this is a 500 foot bulk carrier, it usually has a crew of twenty.” He scrolled to the last satellite image. “This was taken eight hours ago; it shows two large yachts in a patrol patter around the freighter.”

“Protection.” Chin stepped closer to the screen. “On a clear night, there’s no way another boat could get two miles without being spotted.”

“Now I know a hell of a lot more about freight carrier than I did twenty minutes ago,” Lou said. “I take it this is leading up to something?” 

“I’m workingout the details of mounting a retrieval mission.”

Lou unfolded his arms from across his chest. “How do we know the suspect is on board?”

“Or that he has the drugs Danny needs?” Chin added.

“The file on this ship is extensive; I was given this intel for a reason.”

“Let’s pretend our target is on this ship,” Lou said resting his hands on the surface table. “What’s a Russian spy doing on a freighter to begin with? He gonna stock-up on pineapples for the trip?”

“It’s a good question. Given how much money and resources it took to pull off the poisoning, maybe there’s more than the mission involved.” Steve stared at the surveillance images, at the extra muscle the three other smaller ships represented. “I know that bastard is there.”

“If we board that freighter, it’ll be with lethal force. We can’t do that unless we have sound evidence supporting that the target is there,” Chin argued.

And they couldn’t involve anyone else; they would be violating both Federal and international law.

Steve’s phone rang again but his gut told who it would be. The caller was unknown. He gestured at Jerry who immediately began running his trace program.

“Go,” Jerry ordered.

Steve put the call on speaker.

_“Commander McGarrett. I take it by now you’ve assessed the seriousness of Detective William’s situation?”_

“Whom am I talking to? Ivan? Lenin?”

_“My name is of no consequence.”_

“Maybe I should just call you Vladimir.”

 _“Jora.”_ There was an annoyed sigh. _“Now stop wasting my time. Did you get the file from Doris?”_

“I want proof that you have the species specific serum.”

_“Commander –”_

“If I don’t see proof than this conversation is over.” Steve’s phone beeped and he stared at a dozen vials filled with yellow fluid. “How do I know those weren’t stored on your phone?”

_“The poison is a form of the serum, Commander. I wouldn’t have been able to poison your partner otherwise.”_

Jerry gave Steve the thumbs up.

“I need more time. I can have the file in a few hours.” He checked his watch. It was 0700 hours. “We can set-up an exchange in –”

_“No. There will be no physical exchange. You will send me the file. After I verify it, then I’ll tell you where to pick-up the serum.”_

“No. That’s not acceptable.”

_“I will provide you the FTP link to upload the file; you’ll have until tomorrow morning to complete the transfer.”_

Jora ended the call and Steve stared at Jerry in expectation. 

“I got it!” Jerry whooped excited, typing feverishly. “Dude, you were right,” he said, looking over at Steve. “The suspect _is_ onboard.”

Kono glanced at the LCD screen, face wrinkled in concentration. “What type of personnel will we have for support?

“None.” Steve could feel skepticism in the room, but it only fortified his reserves. “With a mission like this stealth will be key. We’ll use a three-man team. I can acquire the needed weaponry and supplies, but I’ll need help with obtaining a boat, preferable one that is unregistered.”

There were no verbal objections, just four attentive expressions. Taking a breath, Steve went over his plan, well aware of all the odds of pulling it off. 

 

***

Steve sat in the chair by Danny’s bed while the other man slept in fits, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath. His hospital gown covered his biceps, but revealed the black and blue bruising up and down Danny’s arms from the hemorrhaging under his skin. Hundreds of red tiny dots covered the visible areas of Danny’s neck and chest—it looked like a bad rash, but it was more signs of bleeding.

A bag of brown fluid was attached to the IV pole; anti-venom from a Brazilin Viper that they hoped would reverse the coagulopathy and activate Danny’s clotting factors. Dr. Crandall was optimistic.

Taking Danny’s clammy fingers, Steve held his hand. “You’re going to pull through this. I’m getting you the right medicine and you’ll have no excuse not to get better, you hear me?”

The curtain swooshed open and Amy wandered in carrying a tablet. She unloaded a portable scanner, packet of blood, and medicine vial.

Amy scanned the blood packet before hanging it on the pole and inserting it in the port of Danny’s catheter. “Dr. Crandall spoke to a toxicologist on the mainland.”

“Yeah, he did. Good news.” Steve was aware that Crandall had consulted several physicians specializing with envenomation on webcams. None of them had the species specific venom.

“What are you giving him?” he asked to occupy his mind.

“A unit of plasma to help with the hemorrhaging and large dose of antihistamines.” Amy threw away all the medical waste into a nearby receptacle. “Your guy is a fighter, he’s responded better than we thought to the steroids from earlier. Kept his hypotension from getting too scary.”

“Yeah, he is,” Steve said with a wan smile, squeezing Danny’s hand. 

He looked over at her. “Thanks for taking care of him.”

“Of course, hon.” Gathering her stuff, Amy left the room. 

Steve rested an arm over the railing, pillowing his chin. “I’m going to fix this, you understand? You might not see me for a few hours, but when I come back, I’m going to have the medicine you need.”

“What…are you gonna do?” Danny grimaced as he turned his head over, his eyes halfway-open. “Steve?”

Danny sounded scared and Steve hurried to reassure him. “I found a way to get the right meds.”

“How?” Danny demanded his voice razor-thin. Steve debated how much to divulge which only agitated Danny even more. “Damn it, Steve, don’t lie to me, don’t you dare waste the time we have left to….” The rest of his tirade was cut-off by wheezing. 

Steve couldn’t do a damn thing while Danny struggled for breath, his face flushing as he hacked into a tissue, the paper coming away wet with blood. 

All he wanted to do was take away Danny’s pain, the impotence was worse than death. But he could do one thing—he could make it right. “I’m doing an exchange with the guy who poisoned you. Kono and Chin will back me up.” 

It was only a partial lie.

“Steve….”

“It’s not any less dangerous than any of our previous exchanges or hostage situations.”

“With a damn spy!” Danny ground out, ragged. Somehow his head sank further into his pillows. 

“We’ve dealt with drug-lords, terrorists, and serial killers.”

“But I…I won’t be there to back you up.”

Of all the things for Danny to be upset it about, Steve knew this was what hurt him the most.

Steve bent over and kissed Danny not carrying about his oxygen or Danny’s mumbled words about being ill. “Once you get better, you can have my six and complain about it every minute.”

He felt Danny’s hand wrap around his shoulder, the other curling into Steve’s hair. “Promise me… promise you’ll come back to me in one piece. No bullet holes, no broken bones.”

Steve heard Danny take a heavy, raspy breath, before resting his head against Steve, his shoulders trembling. Steve knew he was crying, but he didn’t let on. “I’ll be back later tonight, maybe in the morning.”

The door to the room opened and Steve turned around to see Lou peering from the hallway. Clearing his throat, Steve turned his attention back to Danny who was wiping at his face. “Lou’s going to sit with you until we’re done.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Steve rolled his eyes just so Danny could see it before meet Lou halfway.

“Hell, I’m not even getting paid for this.” Lou walked over and clapped Steve on the back. “You better keep that promise,” he whispered.

They were all aware of the stakes, but it didn’t matter.

“I keep my promises,” Steve said. “I’m going to come back with that medicine.”


	3. Chapter 3

***  
***  
Steve found an inventory inspection calming: a time to immerse in mission preparation and create mental headspace for what was to come. Duke allowed them to use a small warehouse space he rented at Kewhalo Basin, no questions asked. It was perfect.

Chin and Kono helped him unload crates of equipment from his truck and stack everything next to a long fold-up table. Once they were done, Steve made check-marks on his clipboard, accounting for every item.

After depositing the last of the equipment, Chin leaned on the dolly he used to transport everything, surveying the bulky crates and metal containers. “I know you collect a lot of hardware, but where did you get half of this?”

Feigning ignorance wouldn’t work in this situation, so Steve kept it simple. “I asked my contact for some supplies and my list was dropped off at the storage unit we went to tonight.”

Chin swept his hand around the small room. “There’s got to be over fifty grand worth of stuff here. All that for a _favor?”_ Brows furrowed, he shook his head. “Do you think you might be doing someone else’s dirty work?”

“The thought crossed my mind.” Steve wasn’t naïve; Blackbird was a means to an end. “But Danny doesn’t have time to deal with red tape.” 

Steve started setting all the rifle cases on the table; unlocking and flipping open each one.

“What’s that?” Kono asked, staring in fascination at the weapon Steve was about to touch.

Her curiosity was infectious, making Steve crack a smile. “It’s the Tavor TAR-21 assault rifle with compact barrel.” He picked it up and aimed it at the ground to showcase the length.

“Yeah, that’s is really short.”

“Thirteen inches vs. eighteen inches. Great for tight quarters.” Steve stepped closer to Kono, displaying the weapon. “This one’s manufactured for the Teams; see, it folds in half.”

Steve adjusted the brackets, compacting the weapon into something smaller.

“Niiice, so you can carry it in your fancy rucksack,” Kono said with gesture at some of Steve’s things on the table.

Steve laughed, storing the assault rifle away until he was ready for it. “Well, it’s not waterproof.”

Clearing his throat, he moved down the table with serious intent. “And this one is yours,” he said, snapping open a sleek black case. “It’s a modified MK 15 long range bolt-action sniper rifle.”

Kono’s eye grew large and she stepped closer, almost hesitant. “It’s beautiful.” Picking it up with care, she held it with both hands, testing the weight. “What’s the modification?”

“I can’t divulge the specifics, but it can strike a target at over a thousand yards. And this...,” Steve opened a smaller case beside it. “Is a KAC universal night sight. Attach it to your telescopic lens and you’ll be able to take a shot without artificial light or even the moon.”

Kono’s awe at the weapon morphed to concern, her mouth down turning in thought. She looked over at Chin who had been watching and listening. He clenched his jaw, the two of them communicating in silence before Kono put the sniper rifle away.

Folding her arms, she pinned Steve with a solemn expression. “Are we really sticking to your plan from earlier?”

Chin mirrored her stiff posture, resting his hands on his hips.

Steve faced their criticism head-on, reviewing the op for clarity. “Affirmative. We’ll take the boat within two miles of the freighter. I’ll swim the rest of the way, planting explosives on the hulls of the patrolling yachts. Then I’ll continue to the freighter and board by climbing the aft where the engines are located to conceal my arrival.”

“Where you’ll have to travel to the middle of the ship, almost a hundred yards without detection, to locate the Captain’s quarters,” Chin said his tone questioning.

“Correct,” Steve answered without missing a beat. 

Chin frowned. “But the captain’s quarters is right next to the bridge, outside on the main deck.”

“The captain’s quarters is next to the pilot’s house which contains the bridge. I’ll remain below deck most of the time to conceal my movements,” Steve said, dismissing the concern. “It’ll be after midnight, most of the crew will be asleep.”

Chin sighed, getting a faraway look in his eyes. He shook his head, frustrated. “Steve….”

“I’ve done this type of mission before,” Steve said, reminding them. “I’ll board, locate the suspect, and force him to give me the serum. Then make my way back to the water, meeting you guys halfway.” 

“We don’t even have a visual I.D. of the suspect,” Kono said, speaking up, double-teaming him. “How will you know who to interrogate?”

Steve didn’t understand where this last minute push-back was coming from. He’d gone over this before and time was running out. “I memorized the pictures from all three dossiers. If the Captain isn’t our suspect, then I’ll force him to tell me where he is on the ship.”

“There’s too many unknowns,” Chin said, blowing out a breath. “You’re going in without back-up and with little to no idea what you’re up against.”

“I’ve conducted these types of missions–”

“Years ago, when you were undergoing continuous, rigorous training and preparation. When’s the last time you swam over a mile with gear then scaled the side of a ship?” Chin wiped a hand over his face, his voice thick with frustration and fear. “This is suicide.”

Steve swallowed, the muscles in his shoulders bunched, his heart rate pounding. He looked from Chin to Kono; stepped closer to them, his determination unrelenting. “This mission will be successful because it has to be. There is no other option. If I can’t complete it, then Danny dies. And Grace and Charlie lose their father…and I…,” his voice warbled, throat tightening. “I can’t allow that to happen. I….”

He looked away, resisted the urge to storm off and punch something, moisture in his eyes. Muscles trembling, Steve held his head up high, forcing his vocal chords to work. “I was the target; _I_ was the one who was supposed to be poisoned. I was the one…,” Steve shook his head. “I’m doing this and I need your help.”

“Let me come with you,” Chin pleaded, his voice breaking. 

“You will,” Steve said, forcing control into his demeanor. “I need you and Kono on the boat.”Chin began to protest, but Steve cut him off. “Below deck is a tight squeeze, maneuvering in and out in stealth takes practice.” Steve rested a hand on Chin’s arm. “We’ve done diving together and spear fishing, but I’m not using a scuba tank. I’m using a rebreather that requires days of training; I can’t allow air bubbles to give away my position.”

A rebreather was a SEAL’s favorite piece of diving equipment. Perfect for swimming up to seventy feet, it absorbed the carbon dioxide of a user’s exhaled breath and recycled the unused oxygen content into breathable air. Stealth at its best.

Steve understood their fear, but odds were arbitrary when the objective was success. He looked Kono and Chin right in the eye and spoke with honesty. “The biggest area of risk in a mission like this is getting to the evac point. If I come in hot, I’ll need you guys to cover me until I can swim out and meet you part of the way.”

It was the main reason for sabotaging the patrols, to give Steve a better chance of escaping after swimming to the freighter and obtaining the serum. He’d have zero energy to swim the two miles back without being in SEAL shape. The goal would to swim a quarter of the way back and keep Chin and Kono out of possible weapon’s range.

“We’ll be there,” Kono said in conviction. 

Steve walked toward the table and traced a finger over the barrel of Kono’s sniper. “Both the freighter and your boat will be in constant, opposing motion.”

Kono raised her chin in defiance. “Buoyancy will be a bitch. But it won’t keep me from having your back.”

“Don’t take head-shots, aim center-mass,” Steve told her. “You’ll have a better chance of hitting a target.”

This was it.

Steve checked his watch, grateful he kept his Aquatimer Chronograph from his time in the Teams. “It’s twenty-hundred hours. We launch in an hour. The hospital will kick Lou out anytime. When he’s done, he’ll rendezvous to the warehouse and will be on standby for any emergencies.” 

“Let’s do this,” Chin said.

Licking his lips, he nodded at his friends. “Time to tac-up.”

***

The water was mildly choppy, the ride toward their target filled with few bumps. Steve wore a black amphibious diving suit and waterproof TAC vest; he could hear Danny mocking him about his glory days. 

He blocked out the familiar banter, shutting-down all outside emotion. It was a necessity: no emotional distractions. 

Steve adjusted the weight of his pack across the back his shoulders, all his needed supplies stuffed into a single space. The only thing remaining was his MK 25 rebreather.

The rebreather consisted of three small cylinder tanks attached to front-worn vest. Steve held up his arms while Chin attached it to his chest, buckling the straps around his shoulders waist. He tugged it a few times to ensure it was secure.

Stepping back, Chin glanced at the equipment hanging down both Steve’s chest and back. “How much does that all weigh?”

“About thirty pounds give or take.” Steve held the face mask away from his mouth and nose. “The com pieces probably won’t work when I’m below deck, but communication will be clear once I’m evacing.”

“And you were going to tell us that when?” Chin demanded, pissed.

“I just did.” Steve knew the omission until this point was unfair, but it had been a necessary evil.

Kono slowed the boat to a stop, the yacht ebbing and flowing under the waves. Then she brought out the fishing tackle they were using for cover in case they attracted the attention of the roving patrols. 

She stood in front of Steve, most of her expression hidden by the darkness. “We’ll see you when you’re topside again.”

Steve felt nothing but gratefulness for his ohana. 

He sat on the gunwale while Chin attached Steve’s swimming fins onto his light-weight boots. Satisfied, he looked at Steve. “Maikaʻi pōmaikaʻi, brother.”

Giving a thumbs-up, Steve adjusted his mask over his face, and dived backward into the water.

***

Swimming in-gear took physical and mental stamina. Steve remained twenty feet below the surface, keeping due west, checking his direction with the luminous of his watch. His rebreather used 100% oxygen, giving his blood cells an extra boost of stamina. Of course if the settings were off even a smidge, his oxygen could become toxic, killing him.

It took him thirty minutes to swim the first mile, within range of the roaming patrol boats. Scissor kicking to remain in place, Steve pulled on a strap to a small pack attached to his side. He pulled out a thermal imaging camera with a four inch display so he didn’t have to hold it too close to his face-mask.

Steve pointed the camera at the ocean surface, searching for the heat signatures of the patrol boats. After several long minutes he located a familiar reddish blob at his eight o’clock. It was fifty feet away, going at a slow speed, not faster than five knots.

Even at five knots, Steve couldn’t give chase, so he studied its heading, calculating where he needed to swim to cut it off. 

It was 2400 hundred hours. He’d been in the water for over an hour. His record was eleven when his two-man team had been instructed to sabotage an enemy sub. But his last amphibious mission had been nine years ago—before he’d switched to all desert ops during the remainder of his last tour before Five-O.

He swam ahead, reaching his projected position a few minutes before the yacht would sail above him. He crept closer to the surface, remaining seven feet below, the water rougher from the approaching vessel. The key to attaching explosives was not getting caught in the underwater blades of the motor.

_There._

Steve kicked out, his gloved fingers skimming the underbelly of the yacht. Breathing hard, he attached the plastic explosive to hull. Allowing his body to sink, the yacht continued on its patrol, the crew unaware of Steve’s actions.

He checked his watch; it had taken thirty more minutes to plant the explosives. And there was still a second ship to sabotage.

*** 

The sailor of the second yacht was either bored or drunk. His course veered from a typical circuit, making it tougher for Steve to predict where to swim to intercept it. 

Finally, after nearly twenty minutes of miscalculation, Steve swam in a parallel pattern until he caught up to it, planting his C-4 and getting the hell away from it so he could continue to his main objective.

***

Two hours after he started the mission, Steve scissor kicked in place while searching for the metal rungs along the side of the ship. After a couple of minutes his eyes adjusted to the dark and he located the metal outline of the step and removed the flippers from his boots, clipping them to his vest.

It took three tries before his arms stretched far enough to curl his fingers around the first rung. Using all upper body strength, he pulled himself up and out of the water, all his muscles straining from the effort.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins and Steve scrambled up the length of the ship, pausing at the top of the wall in search of any movement. Feeling secure, Steve pulled himself over the wall, and onto the deck, feet landing with a soft thud.

Steve took several deep breathes to steady himself after two hours of exertion before un-holstering his pack. He scanned his surroundings, planning his next move. Steve needed to get below deck and use the less active areas of the ship to make his way to the Captain’s quarters. The aft part of the ship housed the steering gear and shaft alley; he’d begin there.

He quickly removed his rebreather and face mask, the night air brisk against his face. Steve knew the risks if the dive equipment was discovered so he stuffed everything in a secondary pack with his fins and attached it to the railing, allowing his stuff to hang over the side. If he evaced this way, he could possibly re-use it.

Steve proceeded to go through all his supplies. He slipped on his TAC vest, assembled his weapon, tethering it to his vest with a clip. Finally, he adjusted his night-vision gear over his eyes. Four reddish blobs representing human activity took place forty yards away, the cover of night concealing Steve’s arrival. 

Pulling out his com piece, Steve inserted it into his right ear and clicked it three times to alert Kono and Chin that he was secure. The com clicked three times in reply. Steve released a breath; they were safe.

Keeping low, he made his way to the port hatch leading to the aft corridor. The ship gave off various degrees of heat, but there was no evidence of people within twenty feet, and he opened the hatch and went inside.

***

Ships were constructed for economic use of space, his shoulders brushed against the corridor walls meant only for maintenance crew. The stairwell was clear and he went down two decks into the bowls of the ship.

The shaft alley was a long, narrow passageway that housed the propeller and the turbine gears. As part of the watch, a crewman had to oil the gears and ensure sea water wouldn’t leak through. It was claustrophobic to the nth degree. _Danny would have hated this,_ Steve’s thoughts drifted. He shook his head to get rid of them.

 _Focus._ He was almost to the engine room.

He needed to go down the next corridor and follow it toward the first set of cargo holds. Steve froze; a red blob started coming out of the hatch. 

Steve ducked into a side corridor, planting his back against the wall, aware it only led to one of the store rooms. Crouching down, Steve let go of his rifle and unsheathed his K-bar knife, ready to take out his target.

But the guy turned, going down the same corridor Steve had occupied, headed toward the top deck. Peering around the corner, Steve lifted his night vision goggles and watched the back of the crewman disappear. He wore Russian Naval fatigues.

***

The crew of the freighter was not manned by civilians or hired mercs, but the Russian military. Everyone on board was armed and trained, which meant Steve had to double his efforts to avoid any engagement. 

He needed to go down the corridor another thirty feet before going back up two decks. Steve kept his weapon trained in front of him, aware that crew quarters and the galley occupied the areas above him. The engine room was next, vibrations from its propulsion engines humming through the steel wall beside him.

It was always surreal to view the world in dark greens as Steve kept a quick pace down the passageway. He wet his lips, already feeling thirsty from so much physical activity. Reaching the end of the corridor, he tugged open the hatch to the stairwell and started up the first set of steps when he heard voices.

Damn it. He retreated and made his way to one of the entrances to the engine room. The hatch from the stairwell opened, forcing Steve to enter engineering. 

He shoved his goggles down and closed the door behind him. Almost every inch of space was used-up by loud thumping and high-pitched dangerous equipment. A wall of gauges, generator synchronizing lights, and speed control buttons were to his right and live _240 High Voltage_ busbars lined his other side.

 

_Clear._

Sweat pooled in his hair and under his dive suit from the immense heat generated by the boilers as he stepped around a series of seawater circ pumps and coolers. At his two o’clock he spotted the engineering officer. Steve crouched behind the air compressor to observe him. 

The officer wore noise cancelling headphones. Good. Steve checked his watch; he’d give himself two minutes then return to the corridor. Licking his lips, he trained his weapon at the back of his target.

Ninety seconds.

The engineer never looked away from his work; Steve understood the importance of checking the voltage and amperage regularly of the ships’ generators. There was even a black mat under his feet to protect him from shock; the guy would be vigilant. 

Sixty, fifty, forty….

Steve kept his target in sight, walking backward around equipment, all the way back to the hatch.

The coast was clear.

***

Steve took steps two at a time as he ascended the stairwell and opened the hatch to the main deck. He inhaled two deep breaths of salt-tinged night air. This was the golden minute; only a few steps to his goal. For Danny. 

He passed the door leading up to pilot’s house and the bridge, well aware it’d be the most occupied room of the ship with maybe three or four crewman. Steve scanned the main hanger bay, noting dozens of metal containers lining the port and starboard sides. His thermal imaging displayed two figures twenty yards away working on a container; he was completely exposed. 

Sweat dripped down his face as he approached his main objective—the last few hours came down to this.

Music streamed from the Captain’s quarters, booming cello and violins. Two figures inside the cabin, one sat behind a desk, and the other stood to Steve’s left.

Turning off his night vision goggles, he pushed them down until they dangled around his neck. He gripped his weapon, curling his left fingers around the handle. Counting to three, he yanked open the door with his left hand, charging forward with his assault rifle.

“Freeze,” he growled, pitching his voice low.

The man on the left was in his late thirties, broad-shouldered, and dressed in blue fatigues. He was unarmed with three inches and thirty pounds on Steve. Schooling an expression of surprise, he raised both his hands in the air.

Steve recognized him from one of the photos from the Tanner bust. He was a military agent and most likely the guy at _Rumfire;_ the man who’d hurt Danny. It took every ounce of Steve’s discipline to keep from squeezing the trigger, he couldn’t risk the noise of discharging his weapon so close to the bridge.

Steve shifted his aim to the man on the right, who slowly rose to his feet, his arms out, palms up. He was in his early sixties, bald with deep craggy lines in his face, sporting a goatee, and glasses. He recognized the features of Georgiy “Jora” Assonov from his dossier. Former captain in the Soviet Army, ex-KGB, his current occupation unknown. 

“Commander McGarrett. I must say, I’m impressed. Very impressed.”

“You’re Jora.”

“I am.”

“And he is?” Steve asked, pointing his weapon at the man in fatigues.

Jora didn’t spare a glance at his companion. “That’s Major Petrin.”

Steve finally had specifics. He didn’t take his eyes off Jora; something told him it would be a deadly mistake. “And did he poison my partner?”

“On my orders, yes.”

Steve took three steps forward and bashed the end of his rifle against Petrin’s forehead then returned his aim at Jora. Petrin collapsed like a dead weight. 

Still aiming his rifle, Steve took four steps back and closed the hatch with his left hand, locking it.

Returning to the middle of the room, Steve pointed his weapon at his main target. “Walk out from behind the desk.”

Jora moved until he was an arm’s length from Steve. The Captain’s quarters were no bigger than Steve’s office. A desk was in the far left corner, followed by a tiny refrigerator, and a metal cabinet that stood flush against the wall beside it. 

A bookshelf took up the spot behind where Petrin laid sprawled on the floor, a door leading to the living space beside it.

Steve walked backward until his pack touched the hatch. Digging through a vest pocket, he pulled out a set of zip ties and tossed them on the floor. “Tie up the major.”

Jora knelt down and secured Petrin’s wrists behind his back with practiced precision.

“Now stand in front of your desk.”

“How long did it take you to board the ship?” Jora asked.

“Where’s the serum?” Steve demanded.

Jora stood where he was instructed, keeping his hands in the air. But he looked far from non-threatening. He was calm, shoulders relaxed, his lips curved as if bemused. “Are you alone?”

“The serum,” Steve growled.

“Did you bring the file?”

That fucking file. What was so damned important about it? Steve ping-ponged between hatred and the need for answers. “When did Doris steal it?”

“Twelve years ago.”

_What the hell?_

After she ‘went into hiding’. Steve knew Doris hadn’t spent all those years presumed dead. But the answer still burned. “How can a file that’s over a decade old be worth anything?”

“Depends on the file.”

For fuck’s sake. “Why the hell didn’t you have a copy?”

“I didn’t have it long enough before she stole it.”

Steve was sick of doublespeak and mind games. “You sent this whole thing in motion, killing innocent people, poisoning Danny. All for what?”

“She never returned the file to her superiors; she’s _still_ in possession of it.”

“It’s over a decade old!” Steve fumed. His heart beat so fast it was hard to catch his breath, the need to beat the person who had hurt Danny overwhelming. “What good is it?

Jora hummed under his breath. “I thought the Navy taught you better about emotions. You’re letting yours get the best of you.”

Steve would not be lectured by this asshole. “Says the guy who’s still chasing something he lost years ago.” 

The side of Jora’s face twitched. “Doris ruined my career, it’s a shame the major failed to make her suffer in the bargain.”

“Give me the serum, or I’m going to count how many bones I can break in your hand.”

“That’s a lot, Commander.” Jora laughed. “I’m impressed with your effort. The vials are in the refrigerator. Venom is best stored refrigerated.”

“Go get it.”

Jora walked slowly, bending down to reach the small refrigerator. Steve risked a glance at Petrin who was still slumped unconscious. Returning his attention on his main target, Steve watched Jora open the fridge door, propping it up with his knee.

Steve tensed; Jora’s body blocked any visual confirmation of what was inside the fridge. “Move out of the way.”

Jora braced a hand on top of the little fridge to help him stand, his right hand slipping toward his ankle. Steve spotted the knife holster a second later.

Steve charged with the intent of bashing Jora in the head. But Jora stood and spun around, slashing diagonally in Steve’s direction. Steve twisted his body away, avoiding the blade. He retaliated with a right elbow strike to the other man’s face.

Jora staggered into his desk and Steve slammed the butt of his rifle in the back of the older man’s skull. The knife slipped from Jora’s hand as he fell to the floor, taking stacks of paper with him. 

Steve raised his weapon to strike Jora again when he saw a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye and a giant weight plowed into him. He was unprepared for the tackle as his back was slammed into the standing metal cabinet, forcing the air out of his lungs.

Petrin kept Steve pinned against the metal cabinet by the sheer force of his weight, his right shoulder digging into Steve’s TAC vest and chest, the other man’s bulk keeping Steve’s arms and rifle trapped between their bodies.

“Pomogite!” Petrin yelled. But the music from the radio masked his struggled shouts.

It was desperation. Petrin shoved harder despite the fact his hands were still zip-tied behind his back. Steve tried fighting back, but he was crushed against the cabinet.

Petrin began yelling again; Steve had to shut him up.

Steve had been taught to use his whole body as a weapon; he started kneeing the other man in the thighs and groin. 

Grunting in pain, Petrin started leaning onto Steve instead of pinning him in place. It gave Steve enough leverage to knee Petrin in the abdomen, striking him in the intestines. 

Petrin staggered away and Steve slammed his boot into the bastard’s kneecap. Petrin went down and Steve kicked him in the head for good measure.

Chest heaving in exhaustion, Steve regained his balance and raised his weapon, searching for Jora. Where the hell was he?

Steve felt a sharp object penetrate the side of his right thigh. An intense tingle like an electric shock traveled up his leg. Then the sharp object was removed and struck him again, a pain tearing through skin and muscle.

Steve turned at his waist and stared at Jora, who swayed on his knees, one hand using the side of the desk for support, the other gripping a six inch knife dripping with blood. Steve’s blood.

Despite the pain, Steve knew he only had seconds. He aimed the barrel of his rifle at Jora’s larynx and jammed it hard into the soft area.

The man responsible for poisoning Danny made a sucking, hacking noise as he rolled around on the ground, dying in agony.

The pain in Steve’s leg was piercing, like a heat he could never imagine, his nervous system realizing that thousands upon thousands of circuits had just been broken.

 _No, no, no._ God. He couldn’t be injured like this…not now.

His training took over. Steve scrambled for his medical pouch, pulling it out from his TAC vest, fingers fumbling as he poured out the contents onto the floor.

He adjusted the tether to his weapon to keep it from dangling in his way. Grabbing the trauma scissors, he made quick slits through the neoprene around his leg, revealing nothing but blood.

Hot, piercing pain ran through his thigh, his vision going black around the edges. Nausea filled his stomach, the sensation to throw-up overwhelming.

He tore open the pressure bandage and foil packet of quit-clot with his teeth. Using one of the bandages, he wiped enough of the blood away to reveal two stab wounds and sprinkled the contents of the quick-clot into them.

It burned like a motherfucker. Steve moaned at the horrible pain. His pulse thrummed like a humming bird and his hands shook, but he managed to wrap a large compression dressing over both wounds, grunting from the pressure. But it wasn’t enough; he’d leak through the bandage as soon he put weight on his leg.

The wounds were bad, made with a six inch blade. He needed buy enough time, just enough to escape.

It only took ten more seconds when it really started to hurt, like a deep-throbbing cut inside muscle and bone that he couldn’t reach. It was unbearable; his thigh felt like it was on fire. He needed more triage….

He sat slumped against the side of the desk, Jora’s dead body just inches away. His fingers trembled as he searched at the remaining consents of his med pack. 

_Come on, come on._ Steve found an ampoule of morphine and pulled the plastic cap off, injecting the needle through the wetsuit of his leg. 

Warmth spread from the injection site and up and down his entire limb. It was the oddest sensation to go from excruciating pain to nothing. It hit his head next, relaxing his jaw. 

Focus. He had to keep focus.

He grabbed a tourniquet. Steve needed to be careful, apply it too tight, and he could damage the nerves, but if he didn’t wrap enough, he could bleed out. His fingers were slick with blood and it took a moment to bind it above his injuries before snapping it in place like a seatbelt. 

Panting, Steve crawled toward the open refrigerator, praying. _Please, please, please._

There was a black case inside.

It took forever to undo the snaps, but he finally opened it and revealed twelve medical vials. Steve cradled it against his chest in relief.

Sucking in gulps of air, he tapped his com. “This is McGarrett.”

_“Steve! What’s your status?”_

“I’ve got the serum.”

He could hear Chin’s sighed relief over the com. _“Where’s the rendezvous point?”_

Steve tried calculating how fast he could move; Chin’s words from earlier echoing in his head. There was no way he could swim out them even part-way.

_“Steve?”_

Normally it’d take him a minute to exit the room and go the needed ten or twenty yards to reach the side of the ship and scale down. But now….

“I’m going to need an extraction,” Steve checked his watch, blinking to clear the blurry display. “I’m going to denote the explosives, prepare to pull me out of the water from the portside of the pilot house.”

 _“Roger that,”_ Chin answered. _“Are you injured?”_

“Affirmative.” Steve squeezed his eyes closed against a dizzy spell. “I’ve got to go…hold your position until my signal.”

 _Okay, okay, this is it, the finish line._ Steve carefully stuffed the case with the vials into his pack and grabbed the top of the refrigerator.

Swallowing, Steve forced himself into a standing position. He planted both hands on top of the fridge, _chooing chooing_ for air, the world slowly returning to focus.

_Move your ass McGarrett._

Steve dug into his vest and pulled out the detonator, squeezing the button of the remote. He heard the explosions seconds later.

 _“The patrols are dead in the water!”_ Chin shouted in his ear. _“We’re coming!”_

Steve pushed himself, limping, forcing every horrible step toward the door. Curling his fingers around the door handle, he pulled open the hatch, the ocean breeze soothing against his skin. He stumbled outside and used the side of the pilot’s house for support. 

He placed one foot in front of the other, his weapon bouncing against his vest. Damn it. His hands went on autopilot, gripping and aiming his rifle straight ahead.

The two figures working on one of the metal containers in the distance had stopped, obviously put on alert from the explosions. The rest of the crew would be responding any second now. 

_“We’re two minutes out, Steve.”_

The hatch door Steve had exited slammed open behind him. “Von tam!” 

Steve spun around in the direction of the shouting and fired. Two men in blue fatigues came into his line of sight, one of them spinning backward from where Steve’s bullet struck him. The second man ducked back into the corridor. 

Steve let go of his rifle, allowing it to dangle as he pulled a grenade attached to his vest and lobbed it at the hatch. He didn’t look back at the resulting explosion. 

His leg was numb; his lips felt like rubber, in fact, Steve didn’t feel much of anything. His adrenaline had crashed, or it was the morphine, he didn’t care—all he could think of was just a few more steps…only a few more….

Pain stuck him in the front of his shoulder, knocking him off his feet. His vest had taken a bullet. 

_No, no, no. Get the fuck up!_

But he couldn’t muster enough energy to move. He lay on the deck stunned, moisture running down his face from pain and the agonizing failure. 

He heard the sound of boots running across the deck. Two men swam into view, their weapons pointed in Steve’s face, they started shouting.

“I…I don’t understand,” he mumbled, exhausted.

The first guy brought a radio to his mouth to speak when his whole body jerked and collapsed beside Steve.

The other officer searched frantically around for the source of enemy fire. Steve heard two more shots, the other man backing away in fear, unsure where to his aim his weapon. A bullet ripped through his arm and he stumbled away shouting.

_“Steve, are you there!”_

It took two tries to activate at his earpiece. “Chin?”

_“Kono’s got you covered.”_

“I…I don’t know if I can….”

 _“Yes, you can,”_ Kono told him. _“We’ve got you.”_

Steve thought of Danny sick in the hospital, of Charlie playing with the water cup at the foot of his bed, blissful unaware that his daddy was dying. He thought of Grace telling Steve how she hoped he’d catch the guy who poisoned her father and threw him in jail forever. 

_He’s dead now, honey._

Steve rolled onto his hands and knees. 

Static crackled in his left ear and Steve heard bits and pieces of Kono and Chin’s conversation.

_“I’ll climb onboard the ship and get him….”_

_“I’ll cover you….”_

Somehow Steve was on his feet again, swaying, unsure how long he’d last, he stumbled toward the side of the ship. “I’m coming down,” he panted. _I’m coming Danno…._

A bullet whizzed by his head. There wasn’t any time. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness, could barely feel his leg, but Steve knew Chin and Kono were waiting—that Danny was depending on him. 

And with the last of his strength, he climbed over the wall of the ship, and threw himself into the ocean below.

 

***


	4. Chapter 4

***  
***  
Steve was falling, air whooshing against his face, his instincts kicking in as he brought his arms out in front of him before he impacted the water. The air was knocked out of his lungs, the world flipped upside down as he struggled to orient himself. 

_Swim._

He tried climbing, swinging him arms toward the surface. His boots weighed him down causing his body to sink, gravity and buoyancy at odds with each other. His head hurt, his chest began to constrictfrom the lack of oxygen.

 _No_ , he wouldn’t allow the ocean to take his pack and steal Danny’s life. Steve chopped through the water with all his strength, and just as the pressure behind his sinuses exploded and his lungs began seizing, a pair of hands gripped his arms.

He was pulled upward—higher and higher—until he broke through the surface, gasping for air.

“Come on, I’ve got you,” Chin said, panting in Steve’s ear.

“Hurry,” Kono shouted from somewhere.

Steve tried to help, but his body refused to cooperate. Breathing hurt, his limbs felt like dead weights. Hands tugged on the straps of his vest;he was in the water one minute then flat on his back another. 

Gunfire exploded near-by, bullets ricocheting off the boat. 

“Go, go!” Chin shouted, the sound of a motor revving–up, followed.

Steve tried rolling onto his side.

“Don’t move.” A hand pressed down on Steve’s chest, Chin’s face peering over him. “Steve, you’ve got to remain still.

“My…pack,” he mumbled. “Grab…my pack.”

“Okay, hold on,” Chin told him.

Chin adjusted the straps and took off the pack. “Is…it…safe?” Steve wanted to say more, elaborate, but his thoughts got tangled up in his head.

He felt so damn heavy.

“Steve, talk to me.”

The shooting stopped, the only noise Steve heard was the boat’s engines and Chin’s frantic breathing over him. Then after a minute even the roar of the motor quieted to a dull hum.

“Chiiin,” Steve slurred his voice weak. “The…vials….”

“I found them. It’s okay, they’re safe.” Chin removed Steve’s vest, his hands roaming over Steve’s chest, then his sides and abdomen. The prodding stopped at Steve’s leg. “Damn it.”

Chin lifted up Steve’s legs and stuffed something under them, the movement causing a cold, invisible knife to twist inside his thigh. He groaned in pain.

“I’m sorry, Steve. You’re in shock and I’ve got to keep your legs elevated.” 

“Chin!” Kono shouted. “We’re almost to the dock. I’ve got Lou on the radio; he’s calling EMS to meet us at here.”

“No! Have him radio Tripler to send a medevac flight.”

Chin and Kono’s words reverberated around Steve, turning into soup over his head, the ocean breeze siphoning the heat out of his body. 

“Lou’s on the phone with Tripler; the medevac is on its way,” Kono amended. “What can I do to help?”

“We’ve got to stop this bleeding. I’m applying another dressing; this one’s soaked through.”

“Damn, that’s a lot of blood.”

Something tight was wrapped around Steve’s leg, sending thousands needles throughout his thigh. “Kono, press down hard here,” Chin instructed. Then the needles became daggers.

Steve moaned, trying to squirm away, but he simply lacked the strength, his eyes refusing to open so he could monitor what was going on.

“I know it hurts, Steve, but you’ve got to stay with me,” Chin ordered. 

Steve tried, but an icy sensation in his leg began leaching into the rest of his body, deep into his bones. 

“Come on, Steve,” Kono pleaded, her voice tiny, floating in the distance. 

Fingers pinched his ear, then something rubbed his sternum, but all Steve did was tremble from the freezing cold.

***

“We’ve got a male police officer,late thirties,hypovolemic shock.Two stab wounds to the right thigh. Radial pulse is weak and thready at 145, respiration’s rapid at 38. BP’s hypotensive, 70/40 and falling….”

 

***

Steve was eight hundred feet below the ocean, a throbbing pressure radiated in his head, continuing throughout his body, every molecule tingling beneath his skin.

He had to reach the surface and complete the mission, needed to break through the water, but his leg felt like a slab of Novocain.

_Danny. He needed to find Danny._

Steve startled awake, his breathing supported by an oxygen cannula.

“Steve?”

Steve searched for the source of the voice, but his head was too heavy. A BP cuff was wrapped around arm, an IV in the other.The rest of his body felt sandbagged. The inability to move created a bubble of panic, his chest aching with every ragged breath.

“Steve.” Lou stood beside Steve’s bed, looking down on him, his face stressed. “Hey, take it easy.”

He tried speaking, but Steve couldn’t get any words past his numb lips. _Where was Danny?_ Steve tried looking for him, eyes darting around the room.

“Steve, listen to me,” Lou said, drawing Steve’s attention. “Danny’s sleeping in the bed next to you.”

Steve couldn’t lift-up his arms or even turn his head. Why was he so damn weak? 

“Hey, hey, I’ve got ya. Let me help.” Lou slipped his fingers under Steve’s head, carefully supporting it as Steve turned it to his right. 

Danny lay in a bed a few feet away. An oxygen mask covered his face; IV tubes snaked under his hospital gown, including one leading a saline bag of amber fluid. 

“They created some fancy antibodies with that snake venom. He’s on the fourth vial. Docs said he’s responding well.It’s working, man, it’s working.”

It was working. 

***

Every time Steve tried swimming back up from the depths, he got pulled back down by the riptide. He struggled, kicking out furiously, only to end up floating with the waves, the motion making him nauseous. It didn’t make sense; he never got seasick.

A voice drifted in and out in enthusiasm….

“…then Alani swung from the top of the crane to the roof. Except the perp tried leaping from one rooftop to the other and ended up in the dumpster below. Does that sound like someone we know?”

_Kono._

“I think the instructors use stories of Five-O to terrify the cadets,” she said with a laugh. “Come on Danny, don’t you want to wake up before the boss?”

Steve wanted to say something, but his head pounded and when he opened his eyes, the ceiling tiles looked like they were breathing, his blood flowing with heavy narcotics.

 

***

Steve fought to open his eyes, his brain addled; wakefulness lasting only a handful of minutes at a time. It took several attempts to force open his gritty eyelids to the image of the ceiling spinning. 

But he was finally able to roll his head sideways, the effort rewarded by the sight of Danny staring back at him. His heart ached in relief.

Danny whose face was covered by bruising and sunken eyes, and who tried to sit up in bed before his arms gave out. Smacking his lips, Danny spoke, his voice gravel. “Steve….”

Steve opened his mouth, but only a scratchy noise came out, and the room started to spin along with the ceiling, and damn it… _stop, please stop._ His fingers twitched and managed to lift up his arm, stretching out his hand to reach out toward Danny’s bed….

***

“Everything’s a competition with you, isn’t it? I get poisoned and my blood stops clotting, but you have to go and get your leg flayed-open.”

Steve turned toward a familiar annoyed tone of voice, opening his eyes to the beautiful sight of Danny in the chair next to Steve’s bed. “Danny,” he said his voice rough.

“Yeah, you schmuck.” But there was no real heat to Danny’s voice; he smiled despite his scabbed lips and facial bruising. 

“You’re out of bed.”

“If you mean, plucked out of bed and carried to this chair by two neatherals, then yes I am.” Danny leaned heavy on one arm of the chair; his bluster shadowed by his IV and oxygen cannula. “And if you stay wake long enough, you’ll witness the definition of violating personal space when they carry my ass back to bed.”

“But it worked?” Because Steve needed to know, he needed to hear the words from Danny’s own lips.

“After two horrendous days and seven bags of venom-juice made from those vials. You did realize that the ‘cure’ was nothing more than recycled poison.”

Despite the familiar banter, Steve could see the darkness in Danny’s eyes, the drop of his shoulders, an anguish brimming beneath exhaustion. 

Steve stared, confused, picking up on the wave of anger. “Danny….”

“You lied to me.”

Steve closed his eyes against a throb to his temples. “I….”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare argue against what you did, going all one-man-army against a ship full of the Russian military!” Danny growled, the action triggering a coughing fit, forcing him to bend over in the chair until he wheezed.

Steve tried pushing up with his hands, but Danny latched onto Steve’s bedrail, face reddening, eyes determined. “You almost died. The knife nicked an artery and lacerated a vein. Do you know how many units of blood they pumped into you? How out of it you were from all the drugs they needed to keep you sedated?”

“I don’t regret it,” Steve grit out. 

Danny’s hands shook, his face paling, but instead of yelling, he tumbled out of the chair and onto the bed rail, leaning over Steve, breathing heavy, sweat beading across his forehead. “I love you, you stupid, self-sacrificing sonofabitch. Don’t you ever, do something so stupid again.”

Danny curled his fingers into Steve’s gown, digging them into Steve’s shoulders. He kissed Steve’s cheek, his neck, resting his forehead under Steve’s chin, tears wetting Steve’s throat.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve murmured, relieved, exhausted, and so damn grateful for this man. He hugged Danny, anchoring him place, thankful beyond words for the chance to touch and hold him again.

***

Going home was freedom. It was fresh air and warm sunshine on Steve’s face and the sensation of crawling out from under a crushing weight. He sat on his sofa; his heavily-bandaged leg stretched out and propped up on pillows. Steve wouldn’t budge from this spot until it was time for bed. He had strict orders: rest and limited physical movement for a week.

That was fine in Steve’s book.

“I’m starting to worry the doc gave you too many of those happy pills,” Danny said from the loveseat.

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’ve been sporting a stupid grin since we left the hospital.” Danny sat back against the cushions, closing his eyes in satisfaction. “Although, I don’t blame you considering our previous surroundings.”

Steve’s good mood dissipated a little, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be swept away by the guilt that had plagued him during most of his time in the hospital. Because the color had returned to Danny’s pallor, the reddish bruising almost faded away from healing. His energy had increased to the point that he started to drive Steve crazy during their convalescence. 

Nagging had never sounded so sweet. 

Steve looked around for the TV remote when he heard several car engines outside, signaling the expected arrival of company. 

Danny practically bounced to his feet, almost swaying. Steve pushed the blanket off his legs, but Danny waved him off. “Nope, don’t even think of moving. I’m fine; I just stood up to fast.”

Steve didn’t think he’d ever stop worrying over Danny; it was all part of the package. Danny always knew what Steve was thinking, words weren’t necessary. He gave Steve’s knee a squeeze and a soft smile as he walked toward the door.

The source of Danny’s excitement burst inside before he could reach it, Grace running toward her father and giving him one of the fiercest hugs. “Hey Monkey, you guys are early.”

“It didn’t take long to go to the grocery store,” she said, her words muffled by Danny’s shirt. “But we got you and Uncle Steve all your favorites.”

Chin and Kono followed inside, both carrying reusable bags stuffed with food. Lou and Jerry followed with Charlie in tow, the house filling with the warmth of ohana.

Kono started unpacking and storing things in the kitchen. “We’ve got veggies, fresh squeezed juice and–”

“Burgers, don’t forget the burgers,” Lou chimed in, hoisting a bag of charcoal he carried toward the sliding glass doors leading to the lanai. 

After Chin had picked Steve and Danny from the hospital and dropped them off at home, he and Kono had begun Operation Welcome Home. It had included gathering the rest of the gang and stocking up on provisions. 

Danny bent down to talk to Charlie, whispering in his son’s ear something that made him giggle. Steve watched and listened, knowing this beautiful bond had almost been stolen from father and son—from Steve.

“Uncle Steve?”

He looked over at Grace who stood beside the sofa. “Yes, honey?”

“Thanks for keeping your promise.”

A fierce sincerity reflected in eyes that had experienced too many things for her age. Steve reached over and took her hand. “You, Charlie, and your dad are family. I’d do anything for you guys”

“And we’d do anything for you,” Danny said, coming up from behind Grace, resting his hands on top of her shoulders. “Never forget that.”

Steve smiled despite how heavy his eyelids felt.

“So, who’s going to help me bring in the bed?” Jerry asked, bobbing up and down on his feet.

Steve shared a look with Danny before both men stared at Jerry. “Um, what bed?” Danny asked.

Chin walked over, carrying a screwdriver he must’ve snagged from Steve’s office. “Last time I checked, your bedroom is on the second floor and you’re not allowed to put any weight on that leg.”

Steve’s eyes strayed up the stairs.

“No, don’t you even think about it,” Danny said. “They had to stitch an artery back together; the only that kept you alive was a chemical reaction and the amazingly quick thinking of people smarter than you.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but the emotional high of getting home had slowly faded into lethargy. The stairs seemed like an insurmountable task. 

“They’re going to put my old bed in the garage and the new bed in the room I spend the night in,” Grace said, solving the mystery of where it was going. “I’ll get my room back after you and dad are feeling better.”

Danny planted a hip on cushion where Steve was propped up, his eyes filled with exhaustion and tenderness. “I don’t know about you, but after lunch, I’m gonna need a nap, and I for one don’t want to drag myself upstairs let alone, play human crutch. So, what’d do you say to camping out in the guest room in a bed we can both fit in?”

“I think that sounds like great idea.”

Danny leaned over and gave Steve a kiss before gathering his children in an all-encompassing hug.

Steve was ready to take a break, allowing his eyes to drift close to recharge when he heard Kono head toward the door as she talked about grabbing something from the car.

“Kono,” he called out.

Pausing, she walked over and crouched down to eye level. “Hey, you need anything?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I had a chance to thank you for what you and Chin did during the mission. Those shots…they were one in a million. Neither Danny or I would be here if it wasn’t for you.”

“We did what we had to. Just like you.”

Kono grabbed his hand, there were no words needed. Steve fell asleep to the sounds of his family safe and sound.

***

The doctor’s post-recovery instructions for the both of them had the same weight and demand of any military order: complete relaxation. While Danny hadn’t suffered any permanent organ damage, his body had been put under a great strain—he needed time to heal and relax. And Steve wasn’t supposed to use crutches for more than a few minutes at a time for the next few days. He had weeks of PT in his future.

It was only logical to take the complete bed rest aspect of their recuperation to heart. It was nice to be in his boxers and a tank-top. Four pillows propped up Steve’s back so he could sit up in bed, his injured leg rested on a fifth one. 

Danny nestled his head against Steve’s shoulder. He had forgone the shirt, relaxing in a pair of comfy black shorts. “I think Kono raided _Bed, Bath and Beyond.”_

“I have no idea what do with all of these when we’re done.” Steve wrapped his arm around Danny, drawing him closer to his side, savoring the heat of his skin. “Maybe we’ll let Grace make a pillow fort.”

“I think she’s outgrown pillow forts,” Danny said with a sigh. “She’s going to be dating and driving soon, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Be there for her.” Steve traced soothing patterns along Danny’s collarbone. “Just be there.”

Danny rested a hand on Steve’s left thigh, snuggling closer. “You know there was hours when it was hard to stay conscious. I kept asking myself if I was ever going to see her go to prom, or be there to take her to her driver’s test….” His words faded.

Steve closed his eyes against the guilt pressing into him. He curled his fingers around Danny’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Danny, I’m….”

“Hey, hey, hey, no. Stop it.” Danny pushed up straighter in bed, angling his body around until he faced Steve. “When I was at my lowest, when it was a struggle to breathe and every muscle in my body hurt, all I could think of was you…and despite my realistic, pessimistic viewpoint of the world, I knew you wouldn’t let me die.”

Danny’s eyes softened, his voice fragile. “And it scared the hell out of me, because I knew you’d take on whatever obstacle was in your way no matter the risks. I pumped Lou for over an hour about the exchange and you better be glad he kept me in the dark or I would have wheeled my whole bed after your insane ass.”

Danny’s anger never upset Steve. Danny’s blood flowed with passion, it was an unstoppable force of expression and Steve was honored to be in the receiving end of such fervor. Because Steve harbored the same sentiment, he just used much fewer words. 

“I made you a promise.”

Danny nodded. “Yeah, you did.”

He traced the fading bruise on the side of Steve’s sternum from where the bullet had stuck him in the vest, his touch tender. Danny’s gaze strayed to the bulky dressing around Steve’s thigh, his frown deepening.

Steve grabbed the sheets and pulled them over his legs and up to his boxers. “I vote for no more talking about anything concerning the last ten days.”

“Hmmmm, you actually have a good idea for once.” 

As if to prove his point, Danny leaned over and kissed Steve on the lips, soft and affectionate. Steve sucked in a breath, his heart stuttering in happiness. He returned Danny’s kiss, teasing the corners of Danny’s mouth, curling his arm around Danny’s broad shoulders.

“I love you,” Danny said breathless, the words making the tiny hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up.

Steve leaned over, resting his head against Danny’s shoulder, cataloguing every moment. “I love you, too.”

***

It had been a week since Steve could navigate on his crutches enough to go onto the lanai to enjoy the sea. He sank into his chair, basking in the afternoon sun, his skin soaking in the warmth. It’d been too long.

His second physical therapy appointment was tomorrow and Steve would take advantage of the day before working hard to get back on his feet. The bad guys didn’t go on vacation just because he was in the hurt locker. Not that Danny didn’t remind him on a daily bases that Five-O and HPD were more than capable of keeping the island secure for a while. 

Breathing deeply, he picked up his cell to call Danny from inside the house to ask him to bring the water bottle Steve had left on the counter when his phone rang. The caller was unknown. 

Sitting up straighter, he answered it. “McGarrett.”

_“Commander, I’m glad you’re on the road to recovery.”_

Blackbird’s voice sent a shot of anger through Steve. “Is that so?”

_“I would have never given you the resources for a mission I didn’t think you were capable of handling.”_

“Or a mission you couldn’t afford to have any other operative be exposed if caught.”

_“I never said I wouldn’t support something that wasn’t beneficial. That said, I’m glad you were successful.”_

Steve was sick of the false pretenses; he was done serving as a weapon for the CIA. “Tell me about the Krylov file.”

_“That’s above your pay grade.”_

“You listen to me, you asshole. My unit served you well; I saved your ass on more than one occasion and I preserved intelligence at great costs. I want to know why I was targeted, why my partner was poisoned for a file over ten years old by an ex-KGB agent with the resources of the Russian military. And if you don’t read me in on—”

_“Do you remember the counterintelligence investigation, code-named Ghost Stories?”_

Blackbird’s sudden change in course took Steve by surprise and it took a second before he recalled the facts of the investigation. “Yeah, during the 1990’s, the CIA identified over a dozen different Russian Intelligence agents sent to the U.S. as teenagers with fake citizenships. They attendedcollege, blended in, and got high-ranking jobs in various levels of government.”

_“And one of their main goals was to start families, so their children could grow-up as American citizens to continue deep-cover operations and report back to Russia.”_

“Yeah, the ultimate spy network.” It was the stuff of movies and TV shows.

_“Don’t you think the U.S would have similar operations, Commander?”_

Steve paused, the idea wasn’t surprising, but the hanging implication was. “And such a list of names would be high-value targets.” He gripped the phone. “Why the hell would a list like that even exist?”

_“It didn’t. But over time, all the handlers for those operatives were complied into a single file. A list that even those at the highest ranks don’t know existed for the safety of those involved.”_

“So, when Doris was asked to steal back such a file, she didn’t return it in order to protect both the handlers and the deep-cover operatives.” Steve stared out at the ocean, clenching his jaw.

_“It took Jora years to rebuild his reputation. Once he did, he sought-outthe one thing that had ruined his status as a high-level agent, a file he code-named after a stint in a Russian gulag.”_

An operative with a small freighter that could travel the world with little to no inspection. Easy to conceal agents and military back-up. 

“And when Jora arrived on the island, you did everything in your power to warn me of the possible threat,” Steve said with biting sarcasm. 

_“You have my gratitude during this difficult situation, Commander McGarrett.”_

“Then consider my debt paid in full.”

_“If I recall, you still owe me a—”_

“No, I don’t,” Steve snarled into the phone. “You owe me for cleaning up your mess. And if anyone I love falls in harm’s way again because of one your little operations, than I’m coming for you next.”

Steve ended the call, his nostrils flaring.

“I take it that wasn’t you ordering a pizza?” Danny asked, walking toward him.

“No.”

Danny leaned over the chair and wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “Are you gonna to tell me what’s got you all worked-up?” But Danny’s tone of voice was thick with doubt that he expected an honest answer.

Every fiber in Steve’s being wanted him to deflect and fall back on years of training: to utter _it’s classified._ But that wouldn’t make him any different from Doris or Blackbird or anyone else who used lies to hide behind the truth. 

Steve released a long breath, craning his neck to look him in the eye. “Why don’t we go back inside and I’ll tell you over a beer.”

Danny gave him a surprised smile that lit up his whole face. “Steve McGarrett, I couldn’t be any prouder of you than I am right now.”

Handing over Steve’s crutches, Danny wrapped an arm around Steve’s waist in support, and the two headed back toward the house together.

***

 

Fini-


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